


Say a Prayer and Light a Candle

by tiptoe39



Series: Destiel Smut Brigade 2015 Winter Challenge [9]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Ambiguous/Open Ending, Awesome Gabriel, Awesome Sam, Family Drama, Flashbacks, Fluff and Angst, Fluff and Smut, Gratuitous Smut, Hanukkah, Interfaith, Jewish Castiel, Judaism, M/M, Meet the Family, Meeting the Parents, Not Exactly a Happily Ever After, Religion, Romance, Secret Relationship, Smut, but not a sad ending either, pretending not to date
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-30
Updated: 2016-03-23
Packaged: 2018-05-10 10:33:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 56,996
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5582335
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tiptoe39/pseuds/tiptoe39
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean comes home with Castiel for the holiday. Only the holiday is Hanukkah, and Dean's not Jewish. Which presents a problem.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Night Before

**Author's Note:**

> Many thanks to @Crowgirl42 and @feministlib for a thoughtful beta, and to @DazedRose for beautiful art!-
> 
> I feel the need to put a disclaimer on this fic because I'm afraid it may not reflect others' concept or experience with Judaism. This fic reflects my experience with my Jewish upbringing, and nobody else's. It portrays both the good and the bad as I experienced it, and deals with questions of the meaning and purpose of religion. Please don't go into this expecting a blanket statement about Judaism, either positive or negative. I'm well aware this may be touching on a sensitive subject, so I do hope you won't come away from it feeling as though I've inaccurately depicted your experience, or unfairly elevated or denigrated the faith. I've tried to be fair, but in the end these characters have opinions and make decisions, and they might not align with yours. I hope that’s all right.

Castiel sits in _shul_ , gazing at the ark as his fellow _daveners_ finish their prayers. He always finishes his silent recitation of the _Amidah_ quicker than most, due to many long years of reading it every week as a child. It's 18 paragraphs of prayers in Hebrew, but Castiel has always had an affinity for languages. He learned to read Hebrew while most of his classmates were still working on English. So the _Amidah_ is a familiar recitation, and he's done and sitting down a good three or four minutes before the people around him.

He takes the extra time to bow his head in a silent prayer. He doesn't often actually petition God for things -- that's really not how Jewish prayer works -- but in this case, he could probably use a bit of divine intervention. _Please_ , he thinks, squeezing his eyes shut tight. _Please let this week not be a disaster._

It's Shabbat now, and his last day of freedom for three weeks. Tomorrow, Sunday, every last straggling student gets kicked out of the dorms until the second semester starts in January. Which means Castiel is going home for the duration of winter vacation. Home to Mom and Dad, and his big brother Gabriel when he arrives, and all the various aunts and uncles and cousins that tend to drop in around this time of year. And home to the sort of big-hearted, rambunctious chaos that has always left Castiel, the quiet one, feeling just a bit out of place.

It'll be a little better this year, because Dean's coming to stay with him for the duration of Hanukkah. It coincides with Christmas this year, the sixth night coming right on Christmas Eve, so everyone has a few days off from work to spend with family. Which means next _Shabbos_ and the days leading up to it are going to be packed with relatives. It'll be great having his best friend there to stay by his side through the tumult.

Great, and terrible. Because while Dean's well known in Castiel's family as his best friend from college, his parents and uncles and cousins don't have the slightest clue what Dean _really_ means to him.

* * *

> They met a year ago, in comparative religion class. Dean slid into the seat next to him and cast an eye at Castiel's yarmulke. "Why you wearing that?" were his first words.
> 
> Castiel boggled at him. "It's nice to meet you, too," he said, before his brain could catch up with his mouth.
> 
> The stranger beside him just laughed. "OK, sorry, I deserved that. Hi, I'm Dean." He offered a large hand, which Castiel took a moment to admire before shaking.
> 
> Of course, Dean had the same reaction to Castiel's name that everyone did. The answer was pat by now: "It's an obscure angelic name from the _Kabbalah_. Well, it was mispronounced in the delivery room, misspelled on the birth certificate, and ever since I've been Cas-TI-el instead of Cas-SI-el."
> 
> "Hunh." Dean pursed his lips, brow furrowing in thought. Then, innocently: "What's a _Kabbalah_?"
> 
> Castiel very nearly fell out of his chair. "You're taking religion, and you don't know what the _Kabbalah_ is?"
> 
> "It _is_ 101," Dean reminded him.
> 
> Castiel was forced to shrug. "It's a book of Jewish mysticism."
> 
> "So wait." Dean's eyes widened. "Are you Jewish?"
> 
> Was this a trick question? Castiel wondered if he was being filmed. "Um... yes?"
> 
> "No way. That's awesome!" Dean exploded with enough volume to turn a few heads.  He looked around, laughed, and settled down a bit. "Sorry," he said, "I just never met one before."
> 
> "You've never met a Jewish person?" Dean _had_ to be putting him on.
> 
> Dean shook his head. "I'm from Kansas. There's not exactly a lot of -- what's the word? Diversity. Nothing but a bunch of white Protestant farm kids for miles around on every side." He grinned, and that grin was possibly the most adorable thing Castiel had ever seen. "That's one reason I wanted to take this class. Get exposed to things I haven't seen or heard of before."
> 
> "My hometown is about 40 percent Jewish," Castiel mused. "I can't imagine not having any of us around."
> 
> "Hate to tell you this, but you're the exception, not the rule."
> 
> Castiel bit off a laugh. "Trust me, I know."
> 
> The class rolled by, and when it was over, Dean leaned toward him. "So is the thing on your head a Jewish thing?"
> 
> "It's a _kipah_ , and yes." Castiel had a habit of tilting his head to the side when he was curious, and he could feel himself doing it now. "Can I ask you a question?"
> 
> Dean blinked. "Yeah, sure."
> 
> "Why does a guy from Middle America come all the way out to the East Coast for college?"
> 
> "Like I said. I wanted to expand my horizons. Plus, my little brother Sammy's got his heart set on this school, and I gotta be there to take care of him when he gets here next year." Dean's chest swelled with apparent pride. "Kid could go to Harvard, but no, he wants to come here."
> 
> "You're a good big brother," Castiel replied, sincerely impressed. "Are you sure he doesn't want to get away from you?"
> 
> Dean laughed. "Even if he does, tough. It's my job to take care of him."
> 
> "You could teach my older brother some lessons," Castiel said. "Do you... want to get lunch?"

* * *

Dean has a single, and Castiel thanks the sweet Lord for it every chance he gets. It's always a pleasurable walk down the street to Dean's dorm, even on a day like today, when the trees are bare and the wind is whipping the temperature down about twenty degrees. Castiel lifts the folds of his collar and huddles down into his coat as he walks, glad for his gloves and feeling the lack of a hat. He'll have to buy one this week, when he gets a chance. Otherwise, his mother will probably kill him.

It's late afternoon now, and Castiel's had his fill of studying.  He spends Shabbats on campus reading, mostly, and occasionally fudging the rules to jot some notes. He doesn't keep Shabbat while he's at school, except in the most perfunctory way, but it still feels good to take the day to relax and recharge. Castiel gets energy from reading. Enough books under his belt and he gets restless and ready to have a good time.

He makes his way up the steps and enters the building, rubbing his hands together to warm them. The last thing he wants to do is shock Dean with cold hands, although he does like the idea of warming them on Dean's belly, or under his arms, or between his thighs. The thought gives him a devilish smile as he climbs the stairs to Dean's room.

He doesn't have to knock twice before Dean's there at the door, grinning wide and gathering him up into an embrace. They kiss, sweet and lingering, and Castiel hums with happiness against his lips. Being in Dean's arms is always like being enveloped in soft light. Warm, welcoming, home. "How you doin', hon," Dean murmurs, and Castiel nods and smiles in answer. It's been almost a year since the first time they kissed, and Castiel hopes the lightness in his heart never fades.

When Dean finally lets go of him, Castiel notices for the first time that Sam's here. "Hello, Sam," he says, a little embarrassed that he and Dean have basically been making out in the doorway while Sam was on the couch the whole time.

But Sam's nothing but sunny cheer, as usual. "Hi there, Cas!" he says, and rises from the sofa, looking at his watch. "Geez, I better get going."

"My brother wears a watch," Dean says, rolling his eyes. This is not the first time he's said it. Castiel chuckles and Sam shoots Dean a peeved look, but it's all in fun.

Sam claps Castiel on the shoulder. "Take care of him this week, okay?" Castiel nods, trying to look every inch the responsible caretaker, and Sam laughs. "I'm not worried. I know you're good for it."

"I'll do my best," Castiel says. He still feels as though he's got to do Sam proud, so to speak, and he's fretting enough about this coming week that he feels there's reason for Sam to be concerned. But Sam just smiles and turns to Dean to say goodbye.

"So you're going to try to come out to the party, right?" Sam says. He's staying in town with some friends who have an apartment off-campus, and they're planning a "Christmas Eve-Eve" party on the 23rd. For some reason, Sam and Dean don't seem to mind that they'll be away from family this Christmas. It boggles Castiel's mind, as he's always thought Christmas was like Rosh Hashanah -- you might hate it, but you go home and see your family every year nonetheless. He supposes that it must be different for every family.

* * *

> It had been about two weeks, and lunch after Religion 101 had become a regular thing. Sometimes they headed across the street to the dining hall of the dorm that stood there, but more often Castiel and Dean walked down the block to the campus’ Jewish center, the Hillel. There, Castiel could get some protein for lunch - usually overcooked chicken breasts that tasted like plastic, but meat was meat - and Dean could assail Castiel with another round of ridiculous questions about Judaism.
> 
> It would have been annoying if it weren’t so adorable. Dean wanted to know what Jews believed in, what keeping Kosher was all about, why Shabbat was on Saturday instead of Sunday. He asked Castiel for the Jewish opinion on topic A or B from class (more often than not, Castiel’s response was, “You’ll have to ask a rabbi”). But he also wanted to know where Castiel came from, how he grew up, what his family was like and why he was taking a religion course. Dean seemed to look at Castiel and see a million fascinating facets that Castiel couldn’t imagine seeing in himself. It was novel, to be the object of such interest. And a little flattering.
> 
> Plus, when Dean smiled, his eyes went narrow and glittery, and a dimple showed up in his left cheek, and Castiel had become a little addicted to that sight. When Dean skipped one class to attend a lecture by some aging rock star, Castiel stared at the empty seat feeling like the bottom had been scraped out of his heart. Class without Dean kind of sucked.
> 
> Today he was here, though, and as they walked up the stairs of the Hillel toward the dining hall, Castiel noticed a flyer on the wall. _Hillel Purim Services and Party,_ it read. _March 13, 7 PM. Costume contest, Megillah reading, dancing, food & drink. Don’t miss it!_
> 
> He touched Dean’s arm. “We should go to that,” he said, nodding toward the poster.
> 
> Dean glanced at it. “What’s a Purim?”
> 
> It was little, innocent statements like that, with Dean’s green eyes wide and waiting for information, that charmed the heck out of Castiel. Fighting the urge to grin ear to ear, he searched for the best words. “It’s… sort of like Jewish Mardi Gras. A long time ago in Persia, an assbutt named Haman tried to kill us. We lived. So now we eat and drink.” He flushed hard. He’d tried to go for “asshole” and “butthead” at once and the words had collided in an unflattering way.
> 
> And damn it, Dean had noticed. “Assbutt.”
> 
> Castiel stiffened. “Well. Yes.”
> 
> “Is that a sacred Jewish term?”
> 
> “Dean.” Castiel frowned and tried to look as serious as he could. “No.”
> 
> “Too bad,” Dean said with a grin. “I like it. I’m gonna use it. And I’m gonna tell everyone that asks that you came up with it.”
> 
> “Now _you’re_ being an assbutt,” Castiel said crankily, and Dean burst into laughter.
> 
> By the end of lunch, they’d decided to meet at the Hillel for Purim, and Dean was doing that thing again where he laughed and his whole face glowed. Somewhere, deep in Castiel’s heart, a warning was sounding. But the happy thud of his pulse in his ears drowned it all out, and Castiel absolutely couldn’t wait for Purim.

* * *

Sam gives Dean a final hug, winks at Castiel, and heads out and back to his own dorm. Dean closes the door behind him and turns to Castiel with all the glee of an eight-year-old. "I got one," he says.

"Really?" Castiel teases him with a critical look. "I don't know, I have to see it for myself. You could have gotten a fake one."

"I didn't buy it at the supermarket, Cas!" Dean reaches for a bag on the floor by his bed. On the bag is printed a Jewish star and the words "Kobel's Judaica." It's a legit shop, and not a cheap one. Castiel's duly impressed, but, just to give Dean a hard time, he crosses his arms over his chest and squints skeptically.

"Don't give me that look." Dean rummages in the bag and pulls out a gleaming silver menorah. "See? I even bought candles for it."

"Hm. That's legitimate, all right," Castiel says, taking it out of Dean's hands and turning it over to inspect. "Eight candles plus the Shamash."

"One candle to rule them all," Dean quips.

Castiel ignores him. "Right. Let's put it in the window." He clears away some beer cans and crumpled up papers on Dean's windowsill and lays the menorah down. It looks perfect, framed by the skyline and the light of late afternoon. "We should lay down some tinfoil so we don't drip wax onto the windowsill."

"Tinfoil?" Dean makes a face. "I don't think I've got any of that."

"Newspaper or notebook paper should suffice." Dean grabs the previous day's student paper from the wastebasket and tosses it to Castiel. "I'm glad the first night is just us. Tomorrow you'll be thrown in at the deep end."

Dean laughs and comes up behind him, laying warm hands on his hips. "I like your family."

"You like who you've met so far," Castiel corrects. "Not everyone is as much fun as Gabriel. Wait till you meet Uncle Zachariah. Unpleasant man."

"I wouldn't be pleasant either, if my name was 'Zachariah.'"  Dean kisses his neck and licks the lobe of his ear. Castiel shudders. "So, tonight could be the last time we get to bang until after Christmas, huh?"

"I've been trying--" Castiel catches his breath as Dean sucks on his ear. Goosebumps prickle on his flesh. "--not to think about it."

"No chance of a quickie in the guest room?" Dean works his hands up under Castiel's soft fingers sweeping across his ribcage. "No handjobs in the bathroom in the early morning?"

"As though you'd wake up in the morning."

"Hey, for handjobs..."

"Dean." Castiel turns in his arms. "Shut up."

Dean's kiss is honey-sweet, and his tongue sweeps over Castiel's teeth, licking into the corners of his mouth. Castiel groans and pushes forward into his embrace, arms winding around him. Like this, holding each other tight, they're so close that it feels like they're melting into one person.

Castiel sighs. "I love you," he murmurs, "and you are going to drive me crazy this week."

"Oh, God, I hope so." Dean kisses his jaw. Soft noises leak from between Castiel's lips and melt in the air. "I love it when you get all hot and bothered."

"Because you're -- ahh-- a sadist." Castiel grabs Dean by the ass, squeezing and tugging. "Feel what you do to me." He knows Dean can. And he can feel Dean's hardness too - hot and thick -- against his thigh.

"Fuck, Cas," Dean murmurs between hot little kisses to his mouth. "You send me from 0 to 60 in a hot second, you know that?"

"I only give as good as I get." And it's the last word spoken in the room for a good long while. Dean and Castiel sink onto the couch, pulling off T-shirts as they go. They tangle together on the cushions, groaning and kissing, hands traveling absolutely everywhere. Dean's moans are hot, sharp little exhalations; Castiel's are long and guttural. Dean's hands card through Castiel's hair, slide down his arms, cup his ass. Ecstatic, Castiel pulls him close, eyes opening just a crack to see the long red lights of sunset saturate the room--

"Dean." He pushes Dean up. "Dean. The candles."

"Whu?" For a moment Dean sits there, hair disheveled, shirtless and clueless. "Candles?"

"We have to light them before it gets dark."

"Oh. Oh! Right." Dean gets to his feet and helps Castiel up. They both have to take a minute to get their bearings.

When he can remember which end is up, Dean goes for his bag, pulling out a box of candles. "So the one goes here," he says, placing a candle in the raised prong in the center of the menorah. "And the other goes..."

"On the right side. You add candles right to left, but you light the candles left to right."

"I'm never gonna remember that," Dean says, sliding a candle into the right-hand slot.

"I'll be here to remind you."

"Damn straight you will." He pats Castiel's ass and winks. "Oh, wait a sec. I got that paper around here somewhere."

"What paper?"

"Its got the pronunciations. Of the prayers. I wanna be able to follow along."

Castiel bites his lip to keep from smiling too hard. Dean is always doing little extra things like this. It's incredibly endearing, to know that Dean wants to know and understand his culture. Maybe it started out as just interest in an unfamiliar religion, but Castiel knows that now, Dean does it because of him.

Dean finally locates the paper and unfolds it. Castiel glances down at it. The transliterations and translations are there, such as they are. Castiel's always a little amused how English transliterations never seem to quite capture the flavor of the Hebrew words.

"Um." He chuckles. "We'll need a match."

"Oh, shit! I didn't even think of-- oh, wait. Duh." Dean scrambles in a drawer for a second and pulls out a lighter in the shape of a Colt pistol. The thought of "shooting" the Shamash to light it up has Castiel fighting giggles for a good minute.

"Do the honors," he offers, because he doesn't think he'll be able to do it himself -- not with a straight face.

Dean shrugs and lights up the Shamash. Somehow the gun thing doesn't look at all weird when it's in Dean's hand.

Castiel raises his palms in front of the candles and draws them in three soft circles in the air, inward and toward his body. The candle's glow lights the edges of his fingers. Dean follows clumsily. It's a ritual from Shabbat, and whether it actually applies on Hanukkah Castiel doesn't know. But it feels right to do it, and Castiel has always enjoyed how it makes his fingers look like they're melting into a halo of fire.

He sings the first two blessings in a hushed voice, catching out of the corner of his eye Dean following along on his paper. On the second blessing, he lifts the Shamash from its holder and lights the lone other candle. For a moment it looks like it won't light, but when Castiel tries another angle, the wick catches. Castiel returns the Shamash to its holder as he finishes the last notes of the blessing.

Then he grabs Dean's hand.

The blessing he sings then has a very specific meaning, and Castiel's always been fond of it. He closes his eyes and smiles as he sings.

_Baruch atah Adonai, elohenu melech haolam, shehechiyanu v’kiyamanu v’higiyanu lazman hazeh._

When he comes to the last word and reopens his eyes, Dean's dropped the paper and is staring at him.

"What did that mean?" he asks.

"To be very brief," Castiel says, "it's the liturgical version of 'Thank God I'm here to see this day.'"

"Oh." Dean's lip curls up in a half-smile. "That's pretty good, I guess."

"I do thank God for us," Castiel says.

"Yeah?" Dean tries not to look pleased, but the flush creeps onto his face nonetheless. "Even though I'm..."

"Dean," Castiel warns.

"...a goy?"

"Don't use that word." Castiel has tried to impress upon him a number of times that it's derogatory slang at best, a slur at worst. But Dean seems hung up on the actual sound of the word. He likes to repeat things in Yiddish he doesn't really know the meaning of.

"Whatever." Dean gazes at the candles. "So when's the part we get presents?"

"Usually, right around now. But I'm not giving you your present yet, Dean. I'm saving it for Christmas."

"So you don't have to buy two, you freakin' miser," Dean teases.

"Because Christmas is your holiday," Castiel corrects, "and I want to honor it."

Dean blows air through his lips. "That's a good one. _Honor_ it." He rolls his eyes.

"I do, Dean."

"You know what I want to honor?" Dean sidles up to him and grabs him by the hips. "Your ass."

"Oh. Well." Castiel tries not to grin as Dean starts pressing kisses to his face, groping him shamelessly below the belt. "I suppose you could _honor_ that."

"And by ‘honor,’ I mean ‘pound,’" Dean murmurs against his lips.

A bolt of heat goes through Castiel, and he groans as Dean sucks on his tongue. "Dean..." he starts, breaking away, but that's all he can get out before Dean's kissing him again, pulling him this time not toward the couch but the bed. They jostle against it, and the two pinpricks of candlelight jump before Castiel's vision. "Careful," he says. "The candles."

"Mm-hm," Dean says, tonguing against his collarbone.

"Should have..." Castiel gasps for breath. "really used... tinfoil..." His legs fold, and he falls onto the bed. Dean follows with a little growl and a bigger grin.. All that hot skin and hard muscle on top of him, and Castiel's barely coherent. "Paper's," he tries between labored breath. "...fire hazard..."

"Shut up, Cas," Dean says, and undoes his zipper. A hot hand reaches in and massages his cock through his boxers.

Castiel shuts up.

The candles burn down, bright witnesses, as Dean tugs Castiel's pants off and buries his head between Castiel's legs. A rough shout spills from Castiel's mouth at the first slick, hot feel of Dean's mouth on him. All fire inside, he grabs at Dean's hair and makes wanton, wanting sounds that fill the little room.

"Want me to lick you open, Cas?" Dean growls, a sound that sets everything buzzing inside Castiel. He pants and chokes out an affirmative. His cock is throbbing, but his ass is tingling now, and there's nothing he wants more than the feel of that hot tongue sliding inside him.

He's never flipped faster onto his hands and knees, and at the first feel of Dean kissing the smooth cheeks of his ass he comes unglued. "Fuck, Dean," he whispers, "do it, just do it, kiss me, lick me. Hurry."

Dean's tongue is hot and quick, and it darts between his cheeks with a suddenness that makes Castiel rear up and cry out. In another moment, Dean's licking inside him, easing the tightness in his muscles with delicious little stabs that fill Castiel with lightning. He clenches the pillows in desperate fists, begging and almost sobbing with the hot bright pleasure.

It has to stop eventually, though, and Dean calms him with soft kisses to his back before he gets up to get a condom. They got tested together last summer, but there's something about the condom that _feels_ safe - even if other things they do are just as risky as going without. Besides, there's less mess with one. At least, on Dean's end. Castiel usually ends up soiling the sheets.

A little lube supplements the work Dean's already done on him, and Castiel relaxes and shudders into the probes of his finger. It's delicious teasing, but still teasing, and all Castiel can think of is being filled up inside. "Hurry, Dean," he mutters, "hurry."

"Oh, I'm hurrying," Dean murmurs, and curls behind him. "Damn it, Cas, you make me so fucking hot."

"Now," begs Castiel, "now, now, now."

"Yeah," Dean breathes, and then there he is, sliding in thick and unbearably warm, and Castiel groans loud and long. God, that's the way he loves it - Dean just filling him up in a single stroke. He shudders and pushes back with his hips, trying to get even more. The fullness is unbearable and wonderful.

Dean kisses at his vertebrae, reaches around to fist his cock roughly, and Castiel's caught in that ecstatic place between love and animal lust, where his heart is warm and his body's aflame. Every stroke breaks him a little, and he just wants to break more and more, to have Dean shatter him until he's in pieces on the bed. And he's so very close now, just barely holding himself up, thighs and arms shaking with exertion.

"Holy..." Dean hisses. "I'm not gonna last."

"Do it." Castiel scrapes for breath for the words. "Come in me."

"Fuck," Dean whispers, and Castiel can feel him trembling. "Want you to--" But it's too late, and Dean gasps, then groans hard, pushing forward. Castiel feels Dean’s orgasm pour out of him like a rush, feels the throb and swell and release. He relishes the moment and the last seconds of Dean still buried in him as he comes down from the high.

Then it's done, and Dean's sliding out, breathing heavily. Castiel turns over, and Dean leans down to kiss his neck. "Damn," he says, "I didn't last at all."

"It had been a while," Castiel offers. "With finals and all."

"Yeah, let's go with that," Dean says with a laugh. "Hang on a sec. I'm comin' back for you." He points a finger at Castiel's still-erect cock. Castiel laughs. Dean makes a break for the bathroom.

When he comes back, having washed himself off and gargled comically, he slides onto the narrow bed, easing behind Castiel. He kisses Castiel's neck again and again, tonguing at the sensitive skin there, and wraps his hand around Castiel's cock. Castiel moans, turning all to liquid, and bucks into Dean's hand until he's coming in rushes of shudders that take him over and recede like waves. He moans, little quavering cries, as his orgasm swells and fades again.

"I owe you some serious marathon sex," Dean says ruefully.

"I'll look forward to it next semester," Castiel replies with a rough laugh. "Because we're not getting another chance until January."

"Fuck that. I'm gonna sneak into your room at midnight and suck you off until you wake up every one of your relatives."

Castiel's heart stops. "You wouldn't dare."

"Naw, probably not," Dean admits. He reaches for one of Castiel's hands, interlaces their fingers. "But hey, maybe we can have another round before morning."

They do have another round, a long time after the Hanukkah candles have burned down to nubs and gone out. And then they sleep, heavily and tangled up together.

* * *

> Dean showed up to the Purim event with a tinfoil crown on his head. “I read the story online,” he said. “See? I come prepared.”
> 
> Castiel, on the other hand, was utterly unprepared for what seeing Dean crowned and enthusiastic would do to him. He swallowed hard, managed a flat “Nice,” and headed inside.
> 
> The services were boisterous, with lots of joyous singing and noisemakers rattling raucously at every mention of Haman. And after the services proper there was a kiddush and party, with loads of Manischewitz wine and delicious three-cornered cookies called hamantaschen. Dean and Castiel both drank a little too much, and even without the wine, they were giddy with the night's festivities. Castiel in particular didn't have that much sugar as a rule, so the hamantaschen had him high as a kite.
> 
> The party went on for hours, a student klezmer band playing traditional tunes as the throng participated in hora after hora. By the time they left, their pulses were high and their faces red from exertion. Dean couldn't stop laughing. Castiel was a different kind of drunk: He got cranky and felt the need to pontificate about some topic or other.
> 
> They were in front of Castiel's dorm, and Castiel was going on about the various feminist implications of Queen Esther vs. Queen Vashti, when Dean pulled him to the edge of the sidewalk, took his jaw in one hand, and pressed a kiss to his mouth.
> 
> Castiel's words vanished instantly from his mind. He stared at Dean for a long moment.
> 
> Then something moved -- a tree in the wind, a car down a faraway street, _something_ \-- and they were in each other's arms again, kissing like it was the end of the world. Dean's breath was sweet with wine, and he tasted of sugar and rich fruit. Intoxicated, Castiel licked at his lips over and over again, groaning a low note in the quiet night. His whole body was electrified. It was unforgettable.
> 
> And unforgivable.
> 
> Castiel broke away, staggering backward across the sidewalk. "I can't," he said, gasping for air. "We can't."
> 
> "What?" Dean's voice was hoarse.
> 
> The look in his eyes was heartbreaking. Castiel had never wanted so badly to just throw caution to the wind, to grab onto Dean with all his might and never let go. Instead, he shook his head and stumbled onto the lawn of his dorm. "Good night, Dean," he muttered, and hurried inside.

* * *

It's nearly ten a.m. when Castiel jolts awake from a nightmare. He was in his grandmother's old house, trying to find his present for Dean, and no matter where he looked, he couldn't find it anywhere. He searched through old, empty rooms, around dusty furniture and in dark closets. And as he searched, he began to realize that the whole house was dead around him.

When he awakens, he's sweating and trembling.

And then he sees what time it is, and the trembling starts for real. "Dean," he hisses. "We have to go. It's time to go."

It all seemed sort of faraway and hypothetical until this moment. But as Castiel and Dean dress and grab their bags to head out to the street, the scary reality sets in.

Dean's spending Hanukkah with him. A whole week. And for the whole week, they'll be relegated to "just friends."

Castiel will have to spend a week lying to the people he loves most in the world. So as they walk down the street to where his father is waiting in the car, Castiel sends one more silent prayer up to the heavens.

_Please let this not be a disaster._


	2. Meet the Novaks

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many thanks to @Crowgirl42 and @feministlib for a thoughtful beta, and @DazedRose for beautiful art!
> 
> I feel the need to put a disclaimer on this fic because I'm afraid it may not reflect others' concept or experience with Judaism. This fic reflects my experience with my Jewish upbringing, and nobody else's. It portrays both the good and the bad as I experienced it, and deals with questions of the meaning and purpose of religion. Please don't go into this expecting a blanket statement about Judaism, either positive or negative. I'm well aware this may be touching on a sensitive subject, so I do hope you won't come away from it feeling as though I've inaccurately depicted your experience, or unfairly elevated or denigrated the faith. I've tried to be fair, but in the end these characters have opinions and make decisions, and they might not align with yours. I hope that’s all right.

Castiel's father, Abe Novak, is a burly bear of a man with graying hair and a hard worry line etched into his forehead. He rolls down the window as Castiel and Dean high-tail it down the sidewalk toward the car, then frowns. “I was looking at the door,” he says, indicating Castiel’s dorm, which is decidedly _not_ where the two of them have been. “Where are you boys coming from?”

"Hi there, Mr. Novak," Dean says. "We were down at the dining room at Davidson Hall, having breakfast." It's a lie -- and Castiel's stomach is growling with it -- but he's grateful Dean can think so well on his feet. Dad has always had the effect of turning Castiel into a stone statue with the most innocent question.

"Well, get in." Abe flicks the lock, and the passenger and back doors of the van click. "It's 20 degrees out there. Your mother will kill you when she sees you're just wearing that trenchcoat."

Great. Not even in the car yet and already in trouble. Castiel swings his bag into the back seat and climbs into the shotgun position, leaving Dean to squeeze into the back seat with his bag. "Thank you so much for letting me stay with you, Mr. Novak," he says brightly as the car pulls away from the curb. "I appreciate it."

"We're glad to have you, Dean." Abe peers into the rear view mirror, sizing Dean up -- an action that's not lost on Castiel. His family declared their fondness for Dean after last Passover, but there's always that little shred of suspicion -- who is this boy, and why is he so interested in who we are and what we do? Dean's not even supposed to be a love interest this week -- he's just a friend, and Castiel hates that he'll still be under so much scrutiny.

The car picks up speed, and they ease onto the on ramp for the highway. "Your uncle Lucas and Aunt Rachel are at home," Abe says.

"Is Anna with them?" Cousin Anna is around Castiel's age, and she's a sweet girl, a genuinely good listener.

"No, I think she's still at school." Abe falls silent then, and Castiel looks out the window, watching the cars whiz by. This kind of quiet often falls on them when he and his dad are together. Abe's never been one for a lot of talk, but it's hard to call it silent companionship either. Dad has always been just a little slow to make connections. When Castiel came out, it wasn't an outright rejection, but things were awkward for a few days.

Castiel’s still surprised at how simple that process was. He’d expected the worst, but his mother had just grabbed him by the hand and congratulated him on coming out. Dad took longer, but after the initial awkwardness, everything fell into place relatively easily.

If only it were as easy to take Dean’s hand and tell his parents, _this is my boyfriend._ But Dean’s committed a deeper sin than being male. He’s dared to be born not Jewish, and that’s a non-starter in Castiel’s household. One’s just a matter of biology. The other has much more far-reaching complications.

Castiel turns in his seat to catch a glimpse of Dean in the back. "Are you doing all right?" he asks.

Dean gives him a thumbs-up. "All aces."

Abe takes this moment to perk up. "How are things going with you, Dean? It's been a long time since we had you over."

"I know. It's real good to see you again." Dean grins winningly into the rear view mirror. "Things are good. Still studying hard."

"Of course you are." The dry tone is Abe's way of conveying humor. "Girls and parties, isn't it?"

Castiel is overcome by a coughing fit. But Dean just replies smoothly,

"Something like that."

"Of course it is," Abe says. "Of course, things won't be nearly as exciting at our house. We were surprised you wanted to stay the whole week." He quickly hurries to add, "Delighted, of course, but... don't you want to be with your family on Christmas?"

Dean shrugs. "I do Christmas every year. Hanukkah will be a nice change."

Abe chuckles. " _Ch_ anukkah," he says, drawing out the guttural H noise that Dean always says sounds like a cat coughing up a hairball.

Dean tries to imitate, and his attempt is pretty decent. Certainly not up to Abe's standards, but he garners a pleased nod nonetheless.

Castiel is just so relieved that they are talking and being cordial that he doesn't want to interrupt. The tension is still present throughout his body, a taut cord, and he wonders if it will ever release. He doesn't want to spend the week like this. Even one night was more than enough.

* * *

> They hadn't talked about the kiss. Actually, they hadn't really talked at all, which was not a good omen for Dean coming over to attend a Seder. But the not-talking thing meant they hadn't broken the date either, and Dean showed up at Castiel's dorm right on time in a button-down shirt and nice pants, ready to head out.
> 
> Castiel took one look at him and wanted nothing more than to shove him up against the hallway wall and kiss the breath out of him.
> 
> "Hi," he said, instead, and even "hi" seemed endlessly awkward.
> 
> "Am I still invited?" Dean said.
> 
> "Of course," Castiel replied immediately, but in his head he was cursing himself. If he knew what he was doing he'd be telling Dean it was off, their friendship was over, he wanted nothing to do with him anymore.
> 
> Instead, he was setting himself up for a night of torture.
> 
> That was the first time Dean met his family. His mother had been driving the car then, and she got out to hug them both hello. Mom was a lot better with conversation, and she chatted lightly with Dean the whole drive home, asking him about his background and his interest in the Jewish religion. Dean answered with the same boyish enthusiasm all the way into the suburbs and in the front door.
> 
> Cut to the seder itself, and Dean was perusing the Haggadah like it was a Sports Illustrated swimsuit edition as Abe said the opening prayer over the wine. Castiel had to nudge him to raise his glass. Dean tried to hum along with the tune, but the words kept deviating from the Shabbat tune he'd learned over several services and _kiddushim_ with Castiel, and he'd trip over his own tongue and laugh about it. Castiel found the whole thing so cute it was hard to keep from smiling.
> 
> The first washing of the hands came next, and it fell to Castiel to hold the bowl beneath every guest's hands as their neighbor poured water over them. Gabriel poured the water over Dean's hands, and Castiel tried not to look at the droplets glistening on his palms, the strong stretch of his fingers. How had he gone this long without noticing?  
> 
> He was very aware of those hands next, when he passed the plate of parsley to Dean for the ritual dipping of vegetables in salt water. Dean's fingers brushed his during the transfer. Castiel hoped he didn't blush. His own fingers burned for a few minutes afterwards.

* * *

They pull up to the house, and Castiel and Dean retrieve their bags from the trunk. They're not halfway to the door before Castiel's mother is flying toward them, arms widespread, calling Castiel's name. Evelyn Novak never lacks for enthusiasm.

She wraps Castiel up in a hug, cooing and _kvelling._ "You look so tall and grown-up, I can't get over it. Are you feeling well? You're looking so good. Oh, my, and here's Dean. Hello, Dean! It's so nice to see you again. I suppose _Pesach_ wasn't enough holiday for you? Well, I hope we don't overwhelm you this week."

"Nice to see you too, Mrs. Novak," Dean said as he gives her a peck on the cheek hello.

"We're so glad you'll be staying with us again. Oh, Castiel, I don't know if your father told you, but Lucas and Rachel are here." She shuttles them in the door. "Lucas, your nephew's here! Come and say hello. Castiel, sweetie, don't linger in the hallway, go on into the kitchen and say hello to your uncle and aunt. Dean, you too. Come on!"

Castiel pushes through to the kitchen, where Uncle Lucas and Aunt Rachel are enjoying some mimosas. A half-empty bowl of bagels and nearly-picked-clean plate of lox sit on the kitchen island, along with some soiled plates and a pitcher of the orange liquid.

"Dude," Dean muttered to him, taking in the sight of tall, goateed Lucas and bright-blonde Rachel. " _Nobody_ in your family looks Jewish."

"Castiel, buddy!" Lucas comes forward and wraps Castiel up in a hug. "You're looking well. Your mother hasn't stopped talking about you. It's a pain in the butt."

"Lucas!" Evelyn replies. She's the type that still gets bothered about people using words like "butt."

"What? It's true." Lucas sticks out his tongue. _He's_ the type to stick out his tongue at age 53.

What ensues is a whirlwind of bagels and small talk that lasts nearly an hour before Evelyn even remembers that Dean and Castiel have bags that they might want to put away. Uncle Lucas gets his jollies by picking on Evelyn; Aunt Rachel tuts at him occasionally but doesn't raise any protest to speak of; and poor Dean stands aside, slightly out of place in the typhoon of fast talking that is the Novak clan.

At one point, the dreaded subject comes up. It's Aunt Rachel who leans her head on one upturned palm and fixes Castiel with a too-nice smile. "So, Castiel. Met any nice Jewish boys at school yet?"

Castiel is still not over how easily his family switched from nice-Jewish-girl questions to nice-Jewish-boy questions. He's grateful, certainly -- but a little thrown nonetheless. "No, Aunt Rachel."

"Oh, come on." Lucas shakes his head. "You don't expect us to believe that? A face like yours." He tries to reach out and grab Castiel by the chin. Castiel dodges.

"What's wrong?" Evelyn chimes in. "Haven't the boys at Hillel been nice? Do you go to services?"

"Mom." Castiel reddens. "I don't go to services to meet boys."

"But they have social events, don't they? Do you go to those? Don't tell me you're staying home on a Saturday night reading."

Castiel's stomach turns. "Gay, Jewish _and_ attractive is kind of a small subset of the student population."

"Have you tried Jdate?"

It's Abe, oddly enough, who comes to his rescue. "You'll find him one of these days, son. You've got plenty of time."

"Just don't forget to look!" Evelyn chimes in, and with that the subject mercifully passes. Castiel steals a glance at Dean. He looks more amused than anything, and Castiel's relieved. Lord knows they've had enough uncomfortable moments in this house already.

* * *

> The longest part of the seder was over. The Novaks went around the table re-reading the story of the exodus from Egypt (which was embellished quite a bit by a bunch of tangential rabbinical interpretations about the finger of God and there being more than ten plagues). Dean piped up and asked some good questions, and Castiel fought back a swell of pride at seeing how well his family entertained them. He had half a mind to lean over and tell Dean that his curiosity was delaying dinner, but in the end, he chose to keep silent.
> 
> Then there was the reading of the ten plagues (Castiel had to stop Dean from licking his finger after spilling the drops of wine on his plate), and the singing of _Dayenu,_ and Dean eating too much bitter herb and having to run to the kitchen for a glass of water. At last, the meal came, and Dean charmed as he ate, telling Castiel's parents all about growing up in Kansas and what it was like for a country boy to find himself attending college in the big city.
> 
> When they'd stuffed themselves with brisket and turkey and yams and then meringues and flourless chocolate brownies, it was time for the meal to be over. But first there was one missing piece.
> 
> "We thought, since you boys were home, that you'd like to try to find the Afikoman this year," Abe said, his voice rich with delight.
> 
> Gabriel groaned and rolled his eyes. Castiel's reaction was less overt, but along the same lines. "Dad, we're not kids anymore."
> 
> "You're still our babies," Evelyn said. "Besides, we thought it might be fun for Dean."
> 
> "What's going on? What are we finding?" Dean blinked.
> 
> "The Afikoman," Castiel told him. "It was the middle of the three pieces of _matzo_ on the plate. You have to end the meal with it, and usually what happens is that the leader of the Seder hides it somewhere in the house, and the kids have to find it."
> 
> "Only the 'kids,' in this instance, are 23 and 19," Gabriel added.
> 
> Dean shrugged. "Sounds like fun to me."
> 
> "That's because you haven't done it every year since you were six," Castiel muttered. "There's not many places left in this house to look."
> 
> "Dad hid it in the bookcase like four years running," said Gabriel.
> 
> Dean got up from his seat and rolled up his sleeves. "Well, it's brand new to me, so I'm down for it. Should I just start looking?"
> 
> Castiel sighed as Dean dashed off into the living room to search. "I suppose I might as well go search too."
> 
> They met again in Dad's den, at the far corner of the house. Castiel was rummaging through the files scattered on the desk when he felt a warm hand on his waist. The next thing he knew, he was deep in Dean’s embrace, Dean's mouth drifting across his neck.
> 
> He scrambled away. "Not here," were the first words he could get out.
> 
> "Does that mean somewhere else, it'd be okay?" Dean's voice was husky, and his eyes burned. "Cas, you gotta know I'm dying over here. You haven't said a word since--"
> 
> "Shh!" Castiel looked around, terrified Gabriel or, worse, his parents would come through the door any minute.
> 
> Dean closed the study door, sealing them away from the rest of the world. He advanced on Castiel, his palms spread wide in an appeal. In another minute they were nose to nose, but Castiel couldn't find it in him to back away. Dean's heat felt too good near his skin. "I really wanna kiss you again, Cas," Dean said.
> 
> "Dean, we have to talk about this."
> 
> "So talk." Even so, Dean was leaning in, his lips scant inches from Castiel's. Castiel was drowning, his body flooded with want. Everything in him was pushing to make the leap, throw caution to the wind and seal his lips over Dean's.
> 
> But not here. Not in his parents' house, in his father's room. It wasn't right. "Dean," he said, "I--"
> 
> "Got it!"
> 
> The call came from down the hall. Footsteps thundered through the house. Gabriel threw the study door open wide and waved the Afikoman, wrapped in a paper towel, in their faces. "I found it. You snooze, you lose. Woot!"
> 
> Castiel heaved a sigh and followed Gabriel back toward the table. Before they made it out of the hallway, Dean grabbed Castiel by the wrist. "We are talking about this," he said. "Soon."
> 
> Castiel could only nod.

* * *

Dad and Uncle Lucas are watching a football game on the TV in the living room, and Mom and Aunt Rachel are discussing coupons or shopping or something similar. It's finally afternoon and finally calm, and Castiel and Dean take advantage of the moment to get their things and head to their respective rooms. Or, rather, Castiel drops his bag in his old room and heads down to the guest room to steal some time with Dean.

Dean's unpacking when Castiel gets there, and he has learned enough prudence to glance out the door before closing it and taking Castiel into his arms. "Hello, handsome," he murmurs, kissing Castiel's mouth and the shell of his ear.

Castiel melts into the embrace, his arms sliding around Dean's shoulders. He teases his fingers up into Dean's hair and scratches, drawing a pleased sound from Dean's lips. "They won't miss us for a few minutes," he says.

"Long enough?" Dean rocks his hips playfully against Castiel's.

Castiel groans. "Depends on what you have in mind."

It feels sinfully delicious to steal a few kisses and gropes just rooms away from his parents, and Castiel can feel his caution from last night melting away. How could he have thought he’d be able to keep his hands off Dean for a whole week? He thinks now that it’d kill him to even try.

And then Dean's backing him up against the wall and teasing his cock out of his pants, and Castiel's not thinking at all. He gives a low whine, hand fisting against the doorframe beside him, and when Dean drops to his knees a rush of heat flies through him. "God, no, we can't," he manages to hiss out. "What if they catch us."

"I'll be quick." Dean grins up at him. "Quick and dirty." He licks his lips, and at that moment Castiel would risk his whole life to get that tongue on him.

Dean shucks down Castiel’s pants and boxers, leaving him bare-assed against the wall. Castiel's knees tremble, and he watches with widening eyes as Dean runs his palm over Castiel's cock, gives a few tugs, and lowers his hand to caress Castiel's balls. The lightning shock of heat that runs through him is searing, and it gets worse when, in mid-caress, Dean sucks in the head of his cock and laves across the swollen skin. Castiel bites back a swear.

"Shh." Dean pulls back just to shush him, and Castiel gives him a scowl in return. Dean takes it as encouragement. He's back on Castiel's cock in a split second, taking more of it in, running his tongue along the shaft. It's pure liquid heat, and Castiel shuts his eyes tight, concentrating on not making a sound as Dean's mouth moves up and down, swallowing and sucking and laving by turns.

A knock sounds on the door right next to them. Castiel freezes. Dean, the rat bastard that he is, just keeps on going.

"You boys okay in there?"

Dean's mouth is on his cock and Castiel has to _answer_ that? He fights for breath. Hoarsely, he manages, "We-- we're fine."

Dean pulls off and chirps brightly, "Just playing some poker, Mrs. Novak!" Castiel could absolutely kill him for how unbothered he seems. He has the sense that if Mom opened the door, Dean would somehow be sitting comfortably on the bed with a fan of cards in hand before Castiel could even move.

"You can play poker in the den if you'd like! I bet your father and uncle would love to play. You know Lucas doesn't get to see you that often."

"M-Maybe next game." Castiel has to fight for the words. "Just give us a minute."

"All right, then." Evelyn says, bewilderment in her voice. Castiel gives a little groan of relief at the sound of her retreating footsteps.

"You're too good at that," he scowls down at Dean, who just shrugs and pops Castiel's cock back into his mouth like it's a soda straw. Castiel could watch him all day like this, lips stretched with the girth of Castiel's shaft, moving up and down, occasionally bottoming out and then sucking in so hard his cheeks hollow out. Panting, Castiel lifts one hand from the wall to card through Dean's close-cropped hair. "Oh, God," he whispers.

Dean slides off him for a moment, his hand replacing his mouth on Castiel's shaft as he kisses and licks at the head. The sight is mindblowing. Castiel can feel his muscles start to lock up. "Fuck, Dean," he hisses, "don't tease me."

Dean looks up at him and raises his eyebrows, eyes wide and innocent. His tongue snakes out of his mouth to slide along the underside of Castiel's cock, swirl around the head. Castiel gives a wordless gasp. His hand in Dean's hair pulls tight.

"Yeah," Dean murmurs, and takes him in fully again.

It's more than Castiel can stand. Muscles taut and trembling, he arches up from the wall and feels the wrench of orgasm grab the base of spine and explode out through his limbs. His lips part, and he makes a choked little sound as he spurts into Dean's wet mouth. He thrusts forward once, twice, three times before the ecstasy starts to wane. Finally, panting, knees knocking together, he slides down the wall to slump against Dean, wrecked and blissed out.

"Poker," he breathes into Dean's ear. "Really?"

"You should see your poker face," Dean says.

* * *

> Dean stayed over that night, since the seder went on past midnight with songs and revelry. At least, it was revelry for most of the family. Castiel couldn't relax, even with the fourth cup of wine. His heart was a tight knot in his chest, and every glance at Dean confused him further. Why did he have to feel like this? How was this fair? Why would God do this to him, unless it was some sort of sadistic test?
> 
> Castiel was pretty sure he didn't believe in such tests, not in the modern day, and he wasn't sure how much stock he held in the existence or active presence of God. But that wasn't really what Judaism was about -- matters of esoteric belief took a back seat to the ritual concerns of how to spiritually elevate the living of your daily life. So it wasn't a crisis of belief for Castiel so much as one of action. He had a choice as to how to act on this, and he had to decide what would be the good Jewish thing to do.
> 
> He didn't get much sleep that night.
> 
> When Dad drove them back in the morning, it was a silent drive, despite the instant coffee that was the only option in the Novak house on Passover. The bitter aftertaste sat on Castiel's tongue, as heavy and unpleasant as the thoughts burning through his brain. He knew an important talk was coming. He just had no idea what he was going to say.
> 
> After Dad dropped them off, Castiel shouldered his bag and turned to go into his dorm. He didn't make it more than a step before Dean's hand on his arm stopped him.
> 
> "We need to talk about this," Dean said.
> 
> Castiel goggled. "Now?"
> 
> "Better than waiting. Come on, Cas. You can't tell me you're not thinking about it."
> 
> "Of course I'm thinking about it," Castiel snapped. "So give me some time to think about it."
> 
> "What's to think about? I like you, dude. I'm pretty damn sure you like me. So why the hell are you playing hard to get? You can't tell me you're afraid of ruining our friendship or some shit like that."
> 
> Dean's eyes were burning an emerald blaze, and his hand was still on Castiel's arm. Castiel could barely breathe. He shook off Dean's touch. There really was nothing for it but the truth.
> 
> He glared at Dean and spoke icily. "I don't date non-Jews," he said. The words felt heavy and final coming off his tongue. Before he could see them land, he whirled and headed for the door.
> 
> Behind him, Dean shouted. "What bullshit is that? Hey! What kind of bullshit is that?" Castiel's heart clenched, and he picked up his stride. When the dorm door closed behind him, it felt like a bolt of finality. Dean was separated from him by glass and wood, and Castiel was safe again.
> 
> Safe in the knowledge that he was living by his morals and principles, yes. But it felt more like he was safe in a lonely little tower, where amazing guys with green eyes and soft lips were still not good enough.

* * *

They do eventually make it out of the guest room and back into the company of Castiel's family. When they emerge, Uncle Lucas and Abe are discussing the just-ended football game in animated detail. Evelyn and Rachel are in the kitchen starting on dinner, gabbing about a sale at some department store or other. Well, Evelyn is gabbing. Rachel is mostly nodding and smiling as she idly cuts vegetables.

Castiel notices the bowl of potato peelings and the bottle of oil out on the counter. He nudges Dean. "Mom's making latkes."

"Sweet," Dean enthuses, and then frowns. "A latke's one of those pancake things, right?"

"Potato pancakes," Castiel says, trying not to laugh. A world in which latke is not a commonly used word is still a foreign entity to him. If he ever goes to visit Dean's family in Kansas, he has the feeling the culture shock will just about kill him. "They're amazing. Mom always makes them from scratch."

Dean steps ahead of him and wanders into the kitchen. He surveys the collection of ingredients. "Latkes," he repeats, as though trying to fit his mouth around the word.

Evelyn turns away from Rachel and fixes Dean with a huge, pleased grin. "Well, Dean," she says. "Do you like latkes?"

"Not sure I've ever had them," Dean says, poking at the pile of potato peelings. "They're potatoes and what?"

"Egg, and salt," Evelyn says, "and a whole bunch of oil. Castiel's told you all about Hanukkah and oil, right?"

"Right! How the one bit of oil lasted eight days." There's a laugh in Dean's voice, along with a bit of self-congratulation. Dean and Mom both have a tendency to get pleased with themselves, Castiel thinks. They both enjoy life so much. Castiel finds himself smiling, watching as Mom instructs Dean in the making of a decent latke. Just for a moment, he lets himself pretend that everybody knows the truth and Dean's being welcomed as a part of the family. The fantasy makes his heart glow to the tune of Mom's effusive instruction and Dean's ardent little nods.

"Geez, that's a lot of oil," Dean muses as Evelyn pours a thick layer of it into the pan.  Castiel almost bursts out laughing. This, from the king of downing greasy cheeseburgers.

A few minutes later, when the oil is popping, Dean cries out in surprise as a drop of it goes flying and lands on his arm. He whirls and faces Castiel, pointing at the pan accusingly. "That is dangerous. Why the hell are you making dangerous food?"

"Be glad it didn't land in your eye," Castiel taunts. "Don't tell me you're not man enough to make me a latke."

"I didn't say th-- damn it. Let me try," he says, turning back to Evelyn, who's just spooned some batter into the pan. He grabs a spatula and watches the pancakes carefully, his eyes lighting up when he sees one that he thinks is ready for turning. Making sure Castiel's watching, he slides his spatula under the lump of batter, lifts it up... and promptly drops five separate glops of undercooked potato into the pan. Castiel snorts a laugh. Dean gives him the death glare.

"They need a little more time than that," Evelyn instructs. "Watch the edges. When they're good and brown..."

"Like that one?" Dean doesn't wait for a reply. He pries up another pancake, and while this one doesn't fall to pieces, it does land kind of unevenly in the pan. Some of the potato filling spills out one side. Evelyn laughs and cuts away the flyaway mess.

"You have no patience," Castiel says, shaking his head like a wise sage.

"You're a jerk," Dean snaps.

"And you're a butt." It's only half the joke, but Castiel's not using the word "assbutt" in front of his parents.

"You just watch, I'm gonna make the perfect latke." And perfect or not, Dean's next attempt at flipping actually works. He flings his arms in the air like an Olympic champion. "And he sticks the landing! 9.8 from the Russian judge!"

Evelyn frowns at Dean, possibly trying to decide whether to take offense. Castiel tries like hell not to dissolve into laughter.

He settles for, later, slyly informing Dean that folks in Israel don't even eat latkes. "The Hanukkah food of choice in Israel is jelly doughnuts."

Dean groans. "You mean I could have just gone to Dunkin' Donuts instead of burning the hell out of my arm?"

* * *

> The day would have been miserable enough if Castiel had just been worrying about what was happening between him and Dean. But it was twice as miserable in the aftermath of the incredibly rich Passover meal they'd consumed last night. When Castiel wasn't having terrible trouble studying, he was lying on his bed feeling like a concrete brick; and when he lying on his bed, he was staring out the window sighing. His roommate stared at him like he'd grown a third head. Castiel ignored him. He and Ash didn't usually talk to each other to begin with; they were the victims of equal and opposite nerdiness, which usually left Castiel reading in bed while Ash played video games until all hours of the night. Not a lot of room for conversation.
> 
> This time, though, Ash actually cleared his throat and said, "Dude."
> 
> It sounded almost like Dean, and Castiel sat up ramrod-straight. "Are you talking to me?" he asked after a second, still a little incredulous.
> 
> "You see anybody else here?" Ash leaned back in his computer chair, crossing his arms over his chest. "Dude, whoever they are, just do it."
> 
> _Do it_ stood out in Castiel's mind like a neon sign. "What?"
> 
> "You're obviously pining. So just go tell whoever it is. Trust me, you'll feel better."
> 
> Castiel felt like he'd been pinned to the wall. It was disconcerting, to be so accurately pegged by someone who didn't know him that well. "I'm supposed to take romantic advice from you?"
> 
> "Do not underestimate the wisdom of Dr. Badass," Ash said, thrusting a thumb toward his chest self-importantly.
> 
> "Do you even have a girlfriend?”
> 
> "Nope. But you know what?" Ash grinned at him. "I never spend time moping in my room about it. When I like someone, I tell 'em. And either they're into it or they're not. No wasted time, ya know what I mean?" Castiel didn't, but that didn't seem to bother Ash. "Anyway, it's not the end of the world or the rest of your life, ya know? We're freshmen in college. Sure, we might meet The One, but it's not hella likely. So I say, jump in, have fun or move on. Only don't forget to text me and let me know if you need some alone time with someone. Sharing is caring."
> 
> It was as much as Castiel had ever heard Ash say at once. It gave him a lot to think about.
> 
> So he had a crush on Dean. So Dean wasn't Jewish. So what? He was 19 years old; Dean was 20. There was no saying they'd end up spending the rest of their lives together, that they'd raise children, that all those long-term problems with faith and life and continuity would even become a problem. Maybe after a few weeks, Dean would look elsewhere, or maybe so would Castiel himself (though he couldn't imagine it). Maybe it wasn't such a sin, to have a little fun. It wasn't as though Castiel worried about things like premarital sex -- or even sex with the "appropriate" gender. Why the hell should he be hung up on something that might not even happen?
> 
> But then again, Dean was right. Castiel liked him. Not just as a potential friend with benefits. Castiel had never been so fascinated by or drawn to a person in his life. It didn't feel like a crush. It felt like the beginnings of something real, something important. And wouldn't it be taking a huge risk, allowing something like that to take root and grow?
> 
> All the questions were still churning in his mind as he stood outside Dean's door that evening, staring at the raised fist that had just had the audacity to knock.
> 
> "Dude." Dean opened the door and smiled that warm, easy smile that reduced Castiel's stomach to liquid. "It’s good to see you. I really wanted to say I’m sorry for putting you on the spot this morning. Come on in."
> 
> Castiel stepped into the room, and Dean shut the door behind them. "I was thinking about it," Dean went on, "and I realized, I really don't have any room to say what goes on with you and your faith, and what makes sense and what doesn't. If you don't date non-Jews, that's part of your faith, and it's sucky of me to question that. So I might not get it, but that doesn't mean anything. You do you, Cas. It's gonna suck to be me for a little while, but I'll get over it. I think."
> 
> Running out of words to say, Dean offered him a rueful half-smile.
> 
> Castiel grabbed him by the arms and pulled him into the deepest and hottest kiss he knew how to give.

* * *

They gather just before the sun goes down to light the candles. Dean follows along on his paper and tries to sing, but the melody and the words both get away from him. Uncle Lucas claps him on the back and commends him for the effort. Evelyn hisses that Lucas should leave him alone. Castiel sniggers.

It's the second night, so all three blessings are still used. Castiel looks longingly at Dean's free hand as they complete the final one. Some prayers should always be said holding the hand of the one you love, and it hurts more than a little that he can't do that right now. But Dean's eyes do meet his just afterward, and the warmth in that gaze heartens Castiel. Dean has already learned how much that prayer means. He knows Castiel thinks of him, and he wants to show the feeling is mutual. Gratitude fills Castiel's heart, and he tosses a quick extra prayer to heaven: _Thank you for letting him be with me right now, even if it's only as a friend._

Aunt Rachel and Uncle Lucas present both Castiel and Dean with gift cards, the easy choice for a Hanukkah present but no less appreciated by cash-strapped college students. Then they all sit down to dinner. It's long and full of rich food and conversation, and everything goes remarkably well. Castiel is starting to feel almost optimistic. Maybe this week will be okay after all.

And the latkes are damned delicious.


	3. Old Haunts

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many thanks to @Crowgirl42 and @feministlib for a thoughtful beta, and to @DazedRose for beautiful art!-
> 
> I feel the need to put a disclaimer on this fic because I'm afraid it may not reflect others' concept or experience with Judaism. This fic reflects my experience with my Jewish upbringing, and nobody else's. It portrays both the good and the bad as I experienced it, and deals with questions of the meaning and purpose of religion. Please don't go into this expecting a blanket statement about Judaism, either positive or negative. I'm well aware this may be touching on a sensitive subject, so I do hope you won't come away from it feeling as though I've inaccurately depicted your experience, or unfairly elevated or denigrated the faith. I've tried to be fair, but in the end these characters have opinions and make decisions, and they might not align with yours. I hope that’s all right.

Monday morning, Castiel sleeps late. It's a glorious bit of dozing, though as he rolls over, he's a little lonely to not have anyone to lean against. He wonders if Dean is lying around in the guest room, missing him.

Oh, who's he kidding? Dean's probably still conked out, dreaming of cheeseburgers. Castiel smiles to himself and drops off again.

When he's finally good and up, Castiel wanders downstairs in sweatpants and a loose gray T-shirt, seeking family or friend. He finds his mother sitting in her home office, shuffling papers around. (Mom practically created the home office just so she could be a dinosaur and do her work on actual paper.) She greets him with a smile. "Your father's gone off to work for the day. You should thank me. I convinced him to let you sleep in."

"I do thank you." Castiel offers her a kiss on the cheek. "Is Dean up yet?"

"Last I looked he was in the kitchen with some coffee. I told him to help himself to breakfast."

"Oh." Castiel realizes he'd automatically assumed the figure in the kitchen behind the paper was his father. "I thought I'd maybe take him around today, show him some of my favorite old haunts."

Evelyn pauses, frowning at one of her papers. She shakes her head and turns it over. "Hmm. Yes, that sounds nice."

She doesn't often frown. "Is everything okay with your real estate?" Castiel asks carefully.

"Hm? Oh, yes. Just a property I have to get inspected." A flush has painted her cheeks. "I'm in a rush today to get everything done before your brother comes home, so we can spend some time together."

"Do you need the car?" It will be a huge blow to his plans if she does, but they'll manage somehow. There's still buses.

"Oh, no. Maybe a little later in the afternoon?"

"We can be back by then. And you can call me if you need me to come home."

Whatever disturbed her seems to have passed. She offers him a sunny smile. "Go and have fun."

That seems like a certainty as Castiel heads back into the kitchen to drop a discreet kiss on the mouth of the man who's really behind the newspaper. He and Dean have never lacked for ability to have fun.

* * *

> "Shh... shh." Dean whispered the words into Castiel's mouth. "Don't say anything."
> 
> "That's extremely hard," Castiel hissed back, and then his eyes rolled up into his head because Dean's jeans were tented against his and Dean was easing down his zipper and reaching inside. His hand sliding over Castiel's dick was a rush of animal heat. "Dean..." He looked over Dean's shoulder at the tiny window of the study room door. "Anyone could see us."
> 
> "Nobody's looking," Dean murmured. He planted tiny baby kisses against the corner of Castiel's mouth. Castiel's lips pursed, trying to catch them, never quite succeeding. "C'mon, everybody knows the study rooms ain't for studying. Anybody looks, they're the perv."
> 
> Maybe so, but Castiel was the one who felt perverted right now, deviant and utterly delicious. Dean was kissing at his neck, and shucking down his own pants. When Castiel looked down he could see their two cocks, erect and bobbing in the air. They brushed together, and just the sight of it set off lightning sparks in his brain. Rashly, without thinking, he reached down and pulled them together into his hand.
> 
> Now it was Dean who had to stifle himself. He gave a little yelp that he quickly bit down on, and buried his head in Castiel's neck. "Oh, fuck, Cas," he whispered. His hips rocked, pushing his dick up against Castiel's. "Feels so fucking good."
> 
> Power was surging through Castiel along with the heat, and he took a few long strokes, pressing them together in his hand. Dean's chest rose and fell against his, and against his neck and ear came broken little sounds, none loud enough to be heard outside these walls, but each one sending shocks down Castiel's spine. "Things I wanna do to you," Dean whispered. His hands clasped Castiel's ass, pulling and squeezing with every stroke.
> 
> "Tell me," Castiel growled.
> 
> "Trying," Dean said, giving a little whine and rocking his hips forward again. "God, I want to-- want to make you beg, Cas, want to see you on your hands and knees. Want to--" Another rock, another whimper from Dean. Castiel's whole body was alight, but the rush of power and control at seeing Dean broken was keeping him together.
> 
> It didn't hold him long. Dean gasped, and then the words came out in a rush. "Want to fuck you, God, want to fuck you so bad."
> 
> It was like a bomb had gone off inside Castiel. Heat billowed through his body. "Yes," he hissed, quickening his strokes, pressing his whole body forward to feel every inch of Dean. "Yes, tell me."
> 
> "Wanna open you up so good," Dean whispered.
> 
> Castiel hissed another "yes," and the _yes_ es kept coming. One when Dean talked about driving into him, another when Dean used the word "pounding," another as Dean promised to kiss his back and reach around to jack him off.
> 
> And then Dean was saying "yes" too, and they dissolved, breaking into shuddering heaps of "yes" and kissing hard as bliss erupted through them. The study room's walls rattled. Someone on the other side might have shouted. Dean and Castiel didn't give a damn.
> 
> Cleaning up afterward, they grinned at each other and tried to calm down their breathing. "So, yeah," Dean said with a guilty smile, "I kinda want to do all that."
> 
> "Me, too," Castiel said simply.
> 
> "It's a big deal, though," Dean said, fastening the top button to his jeans. "And I'm not even your boyfriend."
> 
> Castiel felt a lurch of guilt. He had stated very clearly that this had to be a friends-with-benefits arrangement, that it could never be more than casual. And he knew having sex for the first time — at least, the kind of sex they hadn’t had yet — was supposed to be momentous, world-changing. But he couldn't think of it as anything but perfectly natural. It absolutely seemed like the right thing to do. And Dean seemed like the right person to do it with.
> 
> Especially when they shared a deep, lingering kiss that left Castiel red-faced and breathless.
> 
> "Oh yeah," Dean murmured into the kiss. "I totally want you."
> 
> "You can totally have me," Castiel replied, and sucked Dean's tongue into his mouth to shut him up.

* * *

The first place they go is Castiel's old elementary school. Not so much because Castiel wants to show it to Dean, but because Castiel just kind of wants to see it again.

"The swings are so small," he says, walking through the playground. He wraps his hand around one of the metal chains holding the swings in place. "It's amazing to me that I was ever small enough to fit on them."

"I bet you were a nerdy kid," Dean says. "Teacher's pet. Got everything right, never made trouble."

Castiel makes a face at him. "I was a smart kid," he says, "but I got in trouble plenty. Trust me."

"No kidding?" Dean climbs atop one of the slides. "Like how?"

Reddening, Castiel averts his eyes. "I made a boy cry."

Dean laughs loudly. "Breaking hearts even back then! Are you sure Cas isn't short for Casanova?"

"It wasn't like that." Castiel sighs. "I made fun of his lunch. I told him people who eat tuna fish smell funny."

Dean lets out another snort. He swings his legs over onto the slide and settles at the top, wedging himself in so he doesn't slide down. "So you were a little assbutt."

"Yes, I guess I was. I didn't mean anything by it. It was just an observation I made, and it didn't occur to me that my words could be hurtful." Castiel shrugs. "Sort of myopic of me, considering how very much words affected me."

Dean tries to slide down but can't get enough traction, so he half-scoots, half-walks down the rest of the slide and jumps to the ground. "Enh, you were a kid," he says, an attempt at consolation. "We all sucked at life when we were kids. I was shit at school. I learned stuff and could take a test okay, but I could never write worth a damn. Took home homework full of red marks. Dad gave me hell about it. When Sam was old enough I started having him edit my papers, and I did a lot better."

The image of a pipsqueak Sam laboring away to fix Dean's words strikes Castiel funny. "I imagine our childhoods were very different."

"I guess so. I wonder if we would have been friends. I think maybe I would have given you a hard time."

"You still do," Castiel mutters under his breath, grinning.

"What was that?" Dean sidles close to him, leans in as though listening hard. "You saying dirty things, Cas?"

"Shh." Castiel looks away. He didn't mean for Dean to hear him. He didn't even mean to say it.

"C'mon, tell me." Dean leans in and kisses his neck.

Castiel jumps. His spine goes rigid. "Don't."

"Huh?"

"Someone could see us."

"Who the hell is going to see us?"

"Someone who knows me. Someone could call my parents and tell them I was kissing you." Castiel is well and truly freaked out now. "Just don't, not when we're in plain sight like this."

Dean frowns, but he backs away. "You know someone could see us on campus, too, right?" he says. "Someone _did_."

"It's not the same," Castiel protests, though at the time it had largely been the same. Still, the stakes are higher here. Before, it was just friends. This time, the secret could be revealed to his whole family.

* * *

> Castiel had thought they were going over to watch the newest hit show on the CW, something involving handsome men being shirtless. But when he and Dean arrived at Lisa and Mina's dorm room, they were greeted with serious looks and a disturbing lack of fangirling.
> 
> "Yo, Lis." Dean nodded at her, and waved at Mina. "What's up?"
> 
> "We need to talk," Lisa said.
> 
> Dean cocked his head. "Huh? OK, what about?"
> 
> In answer, Lisa pointed at the couch. "Have a seat. You too, Castiel."
> 
> "The hell?" Dean perched himself on the arm of the couch. Castiel stood next to him, far too nervous to sit comfortably. He looked nervously from Lisa to Mina and back again.
> 
> Lisa sighed. "Fine, stand if you want. We just want you guys to hear this from us."
> 
> Impatience began to stiffen Dean's jaw. "Come on, guys," he said.
> 
> "What is this, an intervention?"
> 
> "Not an intervention," Mina chimed in. "Just a notice. As in, we've noticed."
> 
> "Noticed what?"
> 
> "You," Lisa said. "The two of you."
> 
> Castiel's heart started thudding so hard he was sure everyone in the room could hear it. But Dean just raised his eyebrows and repeated flatly, "You've noticed us."
> 
> "And by noticed," Mina broke in, "she means 'saw you kissing in the study room at the library.'"
> 
> Castiel gave a little wail of despair and slumped down onto the couch. He buried his head in his hands. He should never have let Dean take him in there. They should never have risked being out in public like that.
> 
> "I've talked to Ash, too, you know," Mina went on. "You think he doesn't know who he's being 'sexiled' for?" He sees you and Dean at breakfast together the morning after, when he comes back to the dorm. You think he can't put two and two together?"
> 
> "He said he didn't mind," Castiel said, as though that was even the issue. "He said he'd play WoW all night at Charlie's."
> 
> "Him minding isn't the problem." Lisa folded her hands over her lap and cocked her head at Castiel. "It's the two of you, thinking you're being so sneaky, but you're not fooling anyone."
> 
> "Why are you trying to keep it a secret anyway?" Mina asked. "Nobody cares who you're dating."
> 
> "We're not dating," Castiel snapped back a hair too quickly.
> 
> "Sleeping with, then," Lisa rejoined. "She's right. Nobody cares. Your relationship is your business, but don't think the rest of us can't see it."
> 
> Dean had remained silent through all of this, and he didn't move to speak now. Castiel felt as though the whole weight of the conversation was crashing down on him. It was up to him to struggle out from under it. "It's... it's my fault. I didn't want anybody to know. I..." But the right words to make Lisa and Mina understand just wouldn't come. How could he explain to them how he was wrestling with his religion? Who would hear his shoddy reasoning for why they couldn't properly date and take it seriously?
> 
> "Castiel can't date goys," Dean blurted out.
> 
> All of Castiel's whirling thoughts plummeted down into nothing. He stared blankly at Dean.
> 
> "Goys?" Lisa frowned. "You mean guys?"
> 
> "No, I mean goys. Non-Jews. That's why we're keeping it on the down-low. If we're not really dating, then we won't want to get married and raise our babies outside the faith. That's the way I understand it. And I'm cool with being his secret goy lover."
> 
> "Please don't use that word," Castiel muttered weakly. Out of everything, that was all he could find words to protest.
> 
> Lisa turned her frown on Castiel. "Is that true?"
> 
> "It's an awkward way of putting it," Castiel said. "But yes, more or less. I made a pledge not to interdate. And I meant it. ... that is, I mean it, still. I want to live in a Jewish household and raise my children Jewish. So if I get married, it has to be to a Jew."
> 
> "But nobody's talking about getting married," Mina said. "You're a freshman in college, for Pete's sake."
> 
> "People marry their college sweethearts all the time."
> 
> "So you figure if he's a fling instead of a sweetheart you're safe?" There was worry in Lisa's voice. "Castiel, honey. It doesn't always work like that."
> 
> Castiel's heart sank into his stomach. He was already well aware of that. His feelings for Dean weren't the kind he could keep in a neat box labeled "casual," no matter how hard he tried. But to hear it from Lisa's mouth -- to hear his silent worries made sound -- turned easily suppressible concern into outright dread. What if Lisa was right? What if he fell in love with Dean despite his best efforts? What if he already had?
> 
> Dean laid a hand on his knee, startling him out of the moment. "It's cool," Dean said, voice and face as gentle as sunrise. "I'm cool with being a fling. We're young, we're not making any decisions. Just having a good time, that's all."
> 
> That gentle face, those warm eyes and kind words, heartened Castiel. And scared him, too -- he didn't want to feel as though his heart was overflowing when he looked at Dean, but how could he feel anything else, when Dean so effortlessly was everything he needed? A lump stuck in his throat, unable to choke out a thank-you, he nodded and offered Dean a wan smile.
> 
> Lisa shook her head. "Oh, no," she said. The despair in her voice caused Castiel's heart to clutch further.
> 
> A moment later, though, she shook herself out of it. "Look. I meant what I said," she went on. "Your relationship is your business. Just know that if there's anything you need, you have friends who know and understand. All right?"
> 
> "Yeah," Mina said, grinning. "We'll totally be your beards."
> 
> Lisa shot her a look. Mina burst into laughter. Shrugging, Lisa said, "Well, she's got a point. If you do need cover, we're always here."
> 
> "Thanks, Lis," Dean said. "I gotta admit, it's good to have somebody knowing about it. If only so I can complain about his snoring."
> 
> "I don't snore." Castiel scowled. "Do I?"
> 
> Dean snorted out a laugh. The atmosphere in the small room seemed to lighten, and they all settled in to watch boys being needlessly shirtless on the CW.

* * *

They eat at Eve's, a '50s-style diner that serves breakfast all day. Dean orders bacon and eggs, and Castiel asks for buttermilk pancakes that he knows from experience are about the size of his head. The waitress nods pertly and skips back to the kitchen as Dean settles in and looks around.

"There's a place like this in my hometown," Dean says, admiring the nostalgia plastering the walls -- photos of old high school classes, posters of Elvis. "Called Bill's Roadhouse, but run by a lady called Ellen. Bill's widow, at least, that's what Dad says. You go in and you can just feel the history."

"Eve's has been here forever," Castiel says. "We used to come here during free periods at school. I think I had my first real date here. Guy called Balt. We drank root beer floats and got high on all the sugar. Laughed too much." He still remembers Balt's kiss, all clumsy and sloppy and tasting of root beer. Castiel hadn't minded so much at the time. He was a horny teenager getting kissed, so the details didn't seem to matter.

"Oh, so you're taking me where you took your old boyfriend?" Dean lifts his chin and looks down at Castiel accusingly. "Should I be jealous?"

Castiel rolls his eyes. "Balt was a partier," he says. "I caught him making out with Uri at the Halloween party that year, and that was it. You I've never caught making out with anybody." He leans forward as he says it, that small specter of nerves skittering along his back. What if someone overhears, what if someone infers... it's better to be careful.

"I want to hear all about how you were in high school," Dean says. "Were you a music nerd? You seem to me like you might be a music nerd."

Castiel shakes his head. "I wasn't even that cool. I was a math nerd."

Real shock lights Dean's features. "No."

"Yes. Debate team, math team, model U.N. Everything academic."

"Debate team's pretty cool, though. Model U.N., too, I guess."

Castiel sighs. "I couldn't go on the model U.N. trip to the real U.N. because it would mean traveling on Shabbos. I was deeply disappointed."

"That sucks." Dean pulls a funny face. He's never really understood the logic behind Shabbat, why things like turning on lights and carrying things from one building to another are against the rules. Castiel's explained it to him a dozen times, how there are certain labors associated with the building of the Temple in Jerusalem and you're supposed to rest from those labors, but Dean says he just can't get behind the idea that flipping a light switch is equivalent to lighting a fire. It probably doesn't help that Castiel has pretty much stopped keeping Shabbat since he's been at school. He's a lousy example.

The rituals Castiel chooses to observe (and not observe) are a constant source of fascination for Dean. He tries to follow the logic of why Castiel is fine carrying his bookbag over to Dean's room on Saturday, but he still keeps Kosher and wears a yarmulke. Castiel can explain some of it, but a lot of it makes sense only in his head. And Dean doesn't much like it when things don't make sense in the real world.

* * *

> "She's right, you know," Dean said pointedly as they made their way back to Castiel's room.
> 
> "Hm?" Castiel was still thinking about shirtless men.
> 
> "Lisa. She's right that we're not fooling anyone."
> 
> The thought made Castiel shiver a little. "Maybe not," he said, trying to sound casual about it. He reached into his pocket for his keys and turned toward the door of his room.
> 
> Dean blocked him then, sliding in front of the door. Hands on hips, he frowned. "And she's right that relationships don't work the way you want them to work."
> 
> Castiel grimaced. His heart sank. "Dean..."
> 
> "If people already know, then why are we bothering to hide?" Dean reached for Castiel's waist; Castiel pulled away. "Why can't we just be a normal couple? I'm not ashamed of you, man. And I hate acting like I am. I want everyone to know."
> 
> "Why? Why do you have to tell everyone? We're 20 years old, Dean. We're not getting married. Can't we just have fun and not have to throw it in people's faces?"
> 
> "Would you listen to your damn self?" Dean's voice echoed through the hall. Alarmed, Castiel gestured frantically for him to turn the volume down. Quieter, Dean went on. "Dude. Do you have any idea how lucky we are? Think about when we're living. Think about where we are. We're at a liberal East Coast college in the 21st century. If we lived anyplace else, any other time, we wouldn't be _able_ to tell people about us. You think I could walk around holding hands with a guy in Kansas? C'mon, Cas. I finally get the chance to be myself, to care about who I care about, and you want me to hide it for some other stupid reason."
> 
> Rage filled Castiel. "I can't believe you just said that. How dare you tell me what I believe is stupid."
> 
> "Do you even believe it?" Dean said. "Or is it something else your parents taught you that you've never even thought to question? Do you even think about this stuff?"
> 
> In all the months he'd known Dean, Castiel had never wanted to slug him before. That changed in an instant. He wasn't the punching type, but he did surge forward and bodily shove Dean out of the way. "Go home, Dean," he said, his voice low and cool. His fingers fumbled desperately for his keys.
> 
> "The hell I will," Dean shot back. "The whole freaking dorm knows by now, Cas. What is the point of keeping something a secret if it isn't even a secret anymore?"
> 
> Unlocking the door, Castiel turned to face Dean, eyes blazing. "If you can't respect me and respect my faith and my traditions, Dean, maybe we shouldn't even be seeing each other at all." And before he could think better of it, before Dean could talk him out of it, he slipped through the door and slammed it shut, locking it behind him.
> 
> Dean pounded on the door for a minute, calling Castiel's name. Castiel ignored him until it stopped, his chest caving in, his fists clenched. Slowly, all the tension in his body crumbled to nothing, and he collapsed on his bed, taking long and shuddering breaths, fighting back tears.
> 
> This was the right thing to do. It had to be.
> 
> Unless Dean was right. Unless Castiel was just blindly following his faith. But that couldn't be the case. It wasn't. Castiel knew what he believed and valued. Dean's presence in his life was at odds with that, was all. And Castiel couldn't ignore that fact anymore.

* * *

Their food arrives. Dean digs in, enjoying his very un-Kosher meat with abandon, as Castiel takes hungry bites of warm, fluffy pancakes. He groans a little with the deliciousness, and Dean grins at him from across the table.

Castiel catches Dean staring, and he flushes. "Don't look at me like that," he hisses, looking around as though the world is staring. They're almost the only people in the restaurant, and they're well hidden behind the tall walls of a booth, but he just can't get comfortable. What if someone comes over? What if...

Dean shakes his head. "Dude, if you would stop being a-fricking-dorable, then I'd stop looking at you like that. It's your own damn fault."

Castiel only blushes harder. "Dean," he starts, meaning to chide, but his words are choked out of him at the feel of Dean's foot sliding up his calf. Dean's wriggled out of his shoe, and even through his sock and Castiel's jeans, his foot is warm. Castiel has to swallow as Dean's foot trails up his leg, darting up to his knee and sliding along his thigh.

"What?" Dean says, face all innocence, and continues to eat as though nothing is going on below the waist.

Castiel takes in a shaky breath and tries to concentrate on his pancakes. All he can think of is Dean's legs warm against his, when they're alone and bare and tangled together. A knee thrust between his legs, thigh warm against his hip. The table is becoming nothing more than a frustrating obstacle.

"Dean," he mutters, leaning in.

Dean leans forward to listen. His foot is still doing all kinds of obscene things between Castiel's thighs. His toes brush Castiel's erection, and Castiel closes his eyes and whispers a soft noise.

"What was that?" Dean says, and Castiel can hear the smile in his tone. "Didn't quite hear you."

"I want you badly right now," Castiel murmurs, very low and very carefully. Even so, it feels like a huge risk, and his heart is pounding just from the knowledge that he's said it.

Dean just smiles at him, bright eyes glittering. "The feeling's mutual," he says. "Men's room?"

Castiel shakes his head. "I can think of a better place."

Somehow they finish their meal without mauling each other, but it's not easy. Castiel's hands are shaking as he unlocks the car and gets in.

* * *

Castiel takes them to the high school, abandoned for winter vacation. He drives around back to where the loading dock is, and they park and climb into the back seat. By the time they're done, the windows are fogged up, they're all dishevelled, and it's nearly three o'clock. Castiel groans. They probably should have been home by now.

Quietly, they creep back into the house, but Mom's on the phone and doesn't notice them. Castiel's about to call out a hello when she sighs, her back to them, and says, "I just can't shake the feeling he's keeping something from us."

A cold claw of dread clutches at Castiel's heart and squeezes tight. Frozen, he stares. Dean goes to move. Without even turning to him, Castiel raises a hand, gesturing for him to stop.

"I know, but there's just something in the way he... Do you think it could be this boy Dean?"  Castiel has to clap a hand over his own mouth to stifle a gasp.

The conversation goes on, to Castiel's mounting distress. "I just can't see him as the type of boy who'd do this under his parents' own roof, I don't... well, for one thing, Dean's not Jewish, and Castiel always talked about... I raised him to... yes, Rachel, I know, but he's our son and we worry about him. I don't want him making a mistake he'll regret later. Yes, I know. You're right, of course. Thank you."

Castiel ducks back out into the front hall, his heart hammering. He knew that he'd have to deal with this sooner or later, but he didn't expect it to be sooner. If he wants to get through this vacation in one mental piece, he'll have to take evasive action. Furtively, he glances around and then turns to Dean, who is more or less dumbfounded.

"We have to do something," Castiel whispers.

"Do something? What?"

"We have to throw her off our trail."

Dean frowns. "Cas, we talked about this. Not telling anyone is one thing. Lying is another."

"It's just a little white lie," Castiel pleads. "Do you want this week to turn into a fight? Do you want my parents to throw you out?"

Dean goes still. "No," he says after a few seconds.

"Then let's do something. Something harmless. Invent a girlfriend. Tell her you're seeing Lisa."

"Lisa?"

"Don't you remember? Lisa said if we needed..."

"I just don't wanna drag her into this."

"She's not being dragged. She offered."

Dean sighs. "I just don't feel like it's fair to Lisa."

"Who's Lisa?"

They both whirl. Evelyn is standing there, smiling innocently, any shadow of her former suspicious self dissipated. "I'm sorry to startle you both," she says. "I heard you talking."

"Yeah, sorry about that, Mrs. Novak," Dean pipes up. Castiel can hear the bluster in his tone, but it goes right over Evelyn's head. "We saw you were on the phone and didn't want to disturb you."

For a moment her cool disappears, and her eyes dart to Castiel's. "Oh," she says, a little uncomfortably. "I was just talking with your Aunt Rachel."

"Anyway," Castiel presses, "Lisa is Dean's girlfriend."

"Oh!" Evelyn claps her hands, and Castiel wonders if she's more relieved than delighted. "I didn't realize you had someone in your life, Dean!"

Dean scowls at Castiel briefly. "Yeah," he says with a shaky smile. "Um, Lisa's great."

Evelyn ushers them into the kitchen and thrusts a bowl of fruit at them. Castiel relaxes a little. Offering-food Mom is more like normal Mom. "So why aren't you spending the holidays with this Lisa, then? I have to admit, I'm surprised you wanted to stay with us for the whole holiday."

"That's what I told him," Castiel says. "Once you've seen one night of Hanukkah, you've seen them all."

"It's pretty much the same with Christmas," Dean says. "Anyway, I was gonna spend the holidays with... with Lisa..." His voice wobbles on the name. "But, um..."

"She's spending the holidays doing charity work," Castiel chimes in nervously. "Down in... in..."

"Costa Rica," Dean finishes. "She's in Costa Rica."  He glances at Castiel, and the look on his face speaks as well as any words. _Are you happy now?_

"Oh." Evelyn looks a little confused, but she doesn't ask any further questions, and Castiel breathes a sigh of relief. He's going to have to deal with Dean glaring at him for the rest of this vacation, but he can endure a couple of glares if that's the price of having Dean with him for a whole extra week.

Dinner is leftovers from Sunday night's feast, and as the sun goes down, they gather to light the candles for the third night of Hanukkah. Abe and Evelyn present the two of them with warm hooded sweatshirts with their university's logo. Dean has one just like it, but he doesn't say a thing. Castiel is slightly disappointed that this brand-new sweatshirt doesn't smell like Dean, the way the other one does. At school, he sometimes slips into it and curls up by the window in Dean's room, enjoying the look of the fall foliage and the scent of Dean all around him.

When they head to bed, they're denied even a cursory kiss goodnight by the presence of Evelyn, who is there every minute. Just before Castiel disappears into his room for the night, she calls out, "And don't forget, your brother's coming home tomorrow morning!"

Castiel swallows hard. He'd completely forgotten.


	4. Big Brother Knows

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many thanks to @Crowgirl42 and @feministlib for a thoughtful beta, and to @DazedRose for beautiful art! Especial thanks to my betas for their amazing, thoughtful work on this chapter.
> 
> The following disclaimer is especially important for this chapter:
> 
> I feel the need to put a disclaimer on this fic because I'm afraid it may not reflect others' concept or experience with Judaism. This fic reflects my experience with my Jewish upbringing, and nobody else's. It portrays both the good and the bad as I experienced it, and deals with questions of the meaning and purpose of religion. Please don't go into this expecting a blanket statement about Judaism, either positive or negative. I'm well aware this may be touching on a sensitive subject, so I do hope you won't come away from it feeling as though I've inaccurately depicted your experience, or unfairly elevated or denigrated the faith. I've tried to be fair, but in the end these characters have opinions and make decisions, and they might not align with yours. I hope that’s all right.

Gabriel arrives in a rental car at 8:30 in the morning. Castiel runs out to greet him and help him with his suitcases. Gabriel wraps him up in a bear hug and then slumps against his shoulder. "The red-eye is a tool of the devil," he says. "I'm zonked. Going to go in and go the hell to sleep for a while."

Even so, he talks the whole way from the driveway to his bedroom, mostly about how tired he is. He takes the time to greet Dean, though, pumping his hand and telling him he'd better be up on his Afikoman-finding game next year. He turns to Evelyn and Abe, gives them hugs and kisses, and beckons Castiel like a sherpa to bring his bags along.

"Smells like food in here," he says. "Big surprise. Mom, you made too much again, didn't you? Don't worry about leftovers. When I wake up, I'm gonna be hella hungry. Are there any latkes left? Oh, I got you all kick-ass gifts. Can't wait for tonight. No whoopie cushions this year, I promise. Oh, God, my bed, my blessed, blessed bed. Okay, go away, all of yas. Talk to you this afternoon."

And with that, he unceremoniously dumps himself on the bed and stuffs a pillow over his head, waving everyone away with his free hand. Dean snorts and is the first one to leave the room. Castiel has to usher his parents out. He closes the door behind him.

Abe clucks as though he's not so pleased with the reception, but Evelyn shushes him. "Come on, dear, let him rest. You'll be able to watch football and talk about your guy things later."

Castiel feels a twinge of resentment at this. Although he's always been the more athletic of the two brothers, Castiel has always had to take a back seat in the manly department to Gabriel. It has nothing to do with homophobia, at least. This dates back to when Castiel was a child, long before he was sure of his sexuality. He tended to read books when Gabriel was out in the driveway trying (and failing) to score a basket. The other part of it is sheer personality. Gabriel has that natural charisma and extroversion that makes him the kind of guy people are drawn to. So when Dad wants to talk about power tools and football games, Gabriel's generally the one he wants to talk to. Castiel will do, in a pinch, but there's no mistaking that in this household, father and elder son have a special bond.

He's slightly less lonely about it today though, and the reason is standing next to him looking deliciously sleep-rumpled and grinning. "I had the best damn dream last night," Dean murmurs.

"Oh?"

"I'll tell you about it later," Dean says, with a wink.

They eat breakfast, Dean snagging the last of the leftover bagels and Castiel pouring shredded wheat and milk into a bowl. Dad heads off to work for the day, and Mom hovers in the kitchen pouring unsolicited refills of orange juice. "What are you boys thinking of doing today?" she asks, and Castiel is grateful to hear no suspicion in her voice. Perhaps the Lisa ruse is working.

"I hadn't thought of anything," he admits.

"I have," Dean says. "I was thinking you might take me to your temple."

_Oh._ Castiel hadn't even considered that as an option. But of course Dean would want to see it. He's only been to the Hillel on campus, as far as Castiel knows. It would be fascinating for him to see a building actually constructed around the concept of an ark, the magnificent Torahs all dressed up and the _sidurim_ tucked into every pew. "Yeah, that's a great idea."

"Awesome." Dean turns to Evelyn. "Mrs. Novak, you want to come? You can show me all the important bits."

Evelyn flushes at the invitation. Castiel marvels. Dean is totally turning on the charm. In his own way, he's compensating for her suspicions yesterday, too.

"No," she finally says, "I'll stay here and wait for Gabriel to get up. Someone will have to feed that boy properly, or he'll eat sugar right out of the bowl." Her eyes glitter with amusement. "You go on and show him the shul, Castiel. Don't be too long. I'm sure your brother wants to catch up with you."

"Yeah," Castiel says, "I'm sure he does."

* * *

> The heartbreak didn't go away with the next day, or even the next week. Castiel missed Dean more than he knew he could miss anyone. And being thrown into doubt about his own faith didn't help matters. His stomach roiled, and the words in his textbooks seemed to blur into an incomprehensible scrawl before his eyes. Nothing seemed to make sense anymore, not even the things he'd counted on his whole life. Especially those things.
> 
> He called Gabriel on a whim the next Saturday night. Gabriel was on the West Coast finishing up school, and it was still Shabbat for him, but Castiel was fairly sure Gabriel wasn't keeping the Sabbath any longer. Sure enough, he picked up. "Cas! Buddy! What the hell is up?"
> 
> Castiel sighed. "I need your advice."
> 
> "Oh, no. That's Gloomy Cas Voice. I don't like that voice. Tell me what's going on."
> 
> Castiel laid out the situation in as much detail as he could give without using Dean's name. For some reason, even though he was comfortable with his brother knowing he was seeing a non-Jewish guy, he didn't want Gabriel to connect the puzzle pieces and realize it was the same guy who'd come to Passover a month and a half ago. It wasn't logical, but none of this was.
> 
> When he was done, Gabriel made a bunch of random wise-sounding noises into the phone, "hmm"s and "I see"s. "Sounds like you've got yourself into quite the pickle there, Cassie."
> 
> Castiel cringed. He _hated_ that nickname.
> 
> "So let me restate the situation back to you, then," Gabriel went on. "You like a guy. A lot. And you guys have been bumping uglies."
> 
> "Not literally--"
> 
> "--TMI, bro. Don't wanna know how literal it is or isn't. Give your older brother a break."
> 
> "Sorry."
> 
> "No problem. Anyway, so far he's been cool with you just being FWBs. But now he wants to go public, and that's bad because why?"
> 
> "Because I don't date goyim. And because what if someone sees us in town and reports to Mom and Dad."
> 
> "Hold up a sec. Those are two very different reasons. Which one is the real problem?"
> 
> "I..." Castiel paused, the problem whirling around in his brain like a turntable. It was one, it was the other. It was both. He didn't want to betray his parents, but he didn't want to betray himself, either. And he wasn't sure he hadn't done that already.
> 
> Gabriel got sick of waiting. "Let me ask you something," he said. "What is being Jewish to you? Why do you want to pass it on to your kids?"
> 
> "Why? Because... Jewish continuity," Castiel said lamely. It was a concept that got a lot of lip service in shul, but it was the sort of thing that got praised on its own merits. You didn't ask _why_ it was important that the next generation of Jews have as many people as possible. It was just important because it was important.
> 
> "Screw Jewish continuity. At least for the moment. Why your kids, huh? Why your household?"
> 
> "Because it's where we come from," Castiel said the words leaping to his mouth without thought. "Because it's what I believe in."
> 
> "But it's not like you think your kids won't go to heaven if they're not Jewish, right?"
> 
> "Right, I guess." That had never been a tenet of the faith. Good people go to heaven, regardless of their beliefs.
> 
> "So it's about who they are while they're alive. And you want them to be Jews. Why?"
> 
> Castiel fumbled. "Because there's meaning in it. Because it's a beautiful tradition. Because it's a good way to become a good person."
> 
> "Right-o." Castiel could hear Gabriel's grin, over the phone. "But they don't have to be Jewish in order to be good people."
> 
> "No, but I _want_ them to." Castiel was starting to feel a little attacked.
> 
> "I know you do, bro. So that's something to keep in mind when you're choosing who to date. But it's not the be-all and end-all of your life. It's something to consider, that's all. If you decide it outweighs everything else, that's your decision. But you gotta decide for yourself how much weight it holds. It's a thing. It's not THE thing. You get me?"
> 
> Castiel wasn't sure he did, but at least had an inkling where to start now. "Thanks, Gabriel," he said.
> 
> When he hung up, Castiel looked down at his phone. The obnoxious red dot signifying a message always made him feel vaguely disgusted, like when old email messages sit around unread. He tapped on the screen once, twice, and was faced with the raft of previous messages from Dean throughout the week:
> 
> _I'm really sorry about what happened last night. Can we talk?_
> 
> _Cas, I'm hoping we can talk sometime soon. Let me know when you're ready._
> 
> _Hey, Cas. Miss you. Just saying._
> 
> _Waiting for you, dude. Take your time but don't ignore me forever, OK?_
> 
> And the latest, enveloped in a green luminous balloon:
> 
> _Last time I'll text, I promise. I get the message, you don't want to talk to me. Just know that if you ever change your mind, my door is always open, ok? Take care of yourself, man._
> 
> Castiel felt his heart clench. It felt like a goodbye, and he didn't want this to be goodbye. He wasn't sure what he wanted, but a texted farewell wasn't it.
> 
> He texted back.
> 
>   _Can I come over?_

* * *

Temple Beth Israel is a rectangular building with a set of modern-looking columns set out in even spaces across the facade. Between the columns, wall panels jut forward at a diagonal, creating a sense that the building is contorting itself to draw you inside. When he was a kid, Castiel liked to play around the columns, hide-and-seeking with Hebrew school friends and jumping out to surprise his family as they walked out of shul. He wasn't ever much of a surprise, but it was fun nonetheless.

Now, as they walk toward the entrance, he slides his hand along one of the columns, feeling its curve fit into his palm. "They were so much bigger when I was young," he says, a touch of marvel in his voice.

"How long's it been since you've been here?" Dean asks.

"Not that long, actually," Castiel says with a rueful smile. "When I was home for the summer, we went to services every week. I guess I'm just feeling nostalgic today."

"Dude, that summer sucked." Dean makes a face. "Nothing but work and dry heat."

"And missing me a little?" Castiel teases.

"And missing you." Dean squeezes his waist briefly. "Just a little."

Castiel doesn't shy away from the touch this time, even though they're every bit as public as they were yesterday in the playground. Maybe it's the thought of the summer they'd spent apart, Dean back in Kansas and Castiel from here. They stayed up endless nights chatting online, talking about summer movies and next year's classes, but the conversation always degenerated into talk of how much they missed each other. Sometimes they drifted into graphic detail of what parts of each other they were missing, but not always. Sometimes it was just the thought of being close enough to touch. Castiel's so grateful for that closeness now, even as they walk into the synagogue. Having Dean nearby is a tonic for his nerves, and he feels comfortable in his own skin. That in itself is a remarkable feeling, even without the R-rated stuff.

As they walk into the lobby, Dean sights the basket of _kipot_ sitting in a basket on the front table. "Should I wear one of these?" he says.

"In the sanctuary, maybe. It's probably not necessary out here."

"I'll just wear one anyway." Dean grabs one and shoves it on his head, adjusting the clipped bobby pin so it will stay. Castiel gets a subtle jolly out of seeing Dean in a _kipah_. Something about it is so cute. It brings the earnest-schoolboy side of Dean out. In his sweater and jeans, he's so huggable it hurts. Castiel has to bite down his grin.

"What?" Dean asks. "You're looking at me funny."

"I jus--" Castiel shakes his head and leans in. "I just love you a lot," he whispers.

"Careful," Dean says, grinning himself. "Someone important might hear that." He casts his eyes to the sky, indicating who he's thinking of.

"Him? I think He already knows," Castiel says. "Come on."

He leads Dean into the sanctuary, which is abandoned in the middle of the morning on Tuesday. "There was probably a minyan this morning," says Castiel as they walk down the center aisle toward the bimah, the raised dais upon which the rabbi and cantor stand as they're leading the service.

"A minion?" Dean asks. "Like one of those yellow things?"

Castiel laughs. "A minyan means a quorum. There have to be 10 adults present to hold a morning service."

"Oh." Dean thinks for a moment. "What if there aren't?"

"The shul calls certain people to see if they can come to help form a minyan," Castiel explains. "Mom gets called occasionally, now that she makes her own hours. Dad's on a tighter schedule." Dean nods. "Most of the time, though, it's retirees. People with the time to spare, who like being involved with the shul as a way to get out of the house and socialize."

He leads Dean up onto the bimah, showing him the pulpit and the ark. Dean peeks between the closed curtains at the Torahs and takes in a gasp. "They're so... done up," he says. "Fancy, I mean. With all the ..." He makes a series of incoherent gestures at his face and his head. "...Bling."

Castiel has to suppress a laugh. "I've never thought of the breastplates and crowns as bling before, but I suppose that's what they are."

"No, seriously, those things are better dressed than a Kardashian," Dean says.

"They're supposed to be. The Torah is our most sacred object. Each scroll is painstakingly copied from another by a professional scribe."

"By hand?" Dean's eyes are bright and wide.

Castiel nods. "I like the idea that a book, a source of knowledge, is as close as we get to an object of worship. We dress the Torah up because it is the most important physical object in the religion, but it's really what's contained within that's so precious. It's our history and our heritage, passed down carefully through generations."

"It's the Old Testament, right?"

"Just the five books of Moses. The psalms and proverbs and judges and all that are also part of the liturgy, but these five books are the core of it." Castiel watches as Dean slowly turns in a circle, looking up at the Eternal Flame and the windows through which sunlight streams onto the bimah. The whole area is built to be beautiful, perhaps not the staid, ornate beauty of an old cathedral, but still full of light and elegance. Castiel remembers being thrilled every time he was asked to go up on the bimah as a child, to help open the Ark or say the Ashrei. It was a magical place where important and honored people congregated, and by being up there, Castiel was honored, too.

He stands behind the pulpit and looks out on the rows of pews. Here is where he stood as a Bar Mitzvah, pulse racing, with sweat on his brow as he read out the Torah portion for the week in an unruly, cracking voice. His parents beamed at him from the front rows. His friends sat in the back and whispered and giggled through the whole thing. Afterward there was a luncheon, and when Shabbat was over, a party at his house. One of the few parties Mom and Dad let him hold. It was a proud moment in a 13-year-old's Jewish life, even if all the checks he received from relatives went straight into his college fund.

As they're standing up there, a door creaks open at the back of the sanctuary. Castiel looks over and sees Bobby Singer wheeling in a tray of cleaning supplies. Bobby squints to see people in the room, and harrumphs his way to the front. "What are you two doing?" he asks, and there's nothing gentle in his tone.

"Bobby, hi," Castiel calls, genuinely happy to see that grumpy grimace. "It's Castiel. Castiel Novak. Dean, come over here and meet Bobby, our shammas."

Dean comes to his side. "I thought a shammas was a candle," he says.

"Shamash is the candle," Castiel corrects, "but shammas is just the Yiddish version of the word. It means 'servant,' and it's the name for the... Bobby, what would you say your job is?"

"Janitor." Bobby scowls.

Castiel rolls his eyes. "He's not a janitor. He's more like the caretaker of the shul. Keeps everything clean and running smoothly."

"Like I said, a janitor," Bobby breaks in. He thrusts a rough palm in Dean's direction. "You're Castiel's friend?"

Dean takes Bobby's hand and introduces himself. There's an answering gruffness to his tone that tickles Castiel a little. These two might very well get along.

"How's Rufus?" Castiel asks.

Bobby looks over his shoulder. "Oh, he's around here somewhere. Shoveling siddurs on a shelf or something like that."

Castiel addresses Dean. "Bobby was my inspiration as a teenager."

"What you talking about, kid?" Bobby interjects with a grimace.

"You were!" Castiel insists. "When you and Rufus came out as a couple, it made it easier for me. Seeing my parents accept you and Rufus told me it might be all right."

"Oh," Bobby says, and then, eyeing Dean, " _oh._ "

Dean glances at Castiel, who hurries to say, "It isn't... Dean and I aren't..."

"Sure you're not." Bobby nods. "I got you." He gives Dean a wink.

Castiel wants to protest further, but at that moment Rufus comes through the sanctuary doors hollering. "Bobby, I need you to help me move a table."

"With my back?" Bobby grumbles. "Might as well ask me to dig a grave. I'll be back in a few." Leaving the tray parked by the bimah, he complains his way down the aisle toward the door, meeting Rufus. The two of them disappear.

"Huh." Dean looks at the door where they've disappeared. "So that's the face of gay rights in your world. Wish we had a guy like him where I come from."

"Everybody could use a Bobby," Castiel agrees. "For one reason or another."

Dean takes his hand, and Castiel lets him. It's not like anyone is around to see, and Bobby guessed in a minute. It's warm and comforting, to have Dean by his side and Dean's palm warm against his in this sacred space. Castiel takes an instant to dream about a wedding. No more than an instant, as it's no more than an idle dream, at least, for now. He can't afford to take the time to daydream about marrying someone he can't even tell his parents about.

Then again, he can't afford to be with Dean in the first place. If he had any sense, he'd have stopped things right when they started. God knows he tried.

* * *

> The Dean who answered the door at ten o'clock on Saturday night had blue circles under his eyes, and his hair was scruffy and unwashed. Castiel wanted to take him into the shower, shampoo his hair, and curl up in bed next to him. Just being around Dean made him want to take the easy way out, to succumb to the urge for closeness and let the rest of the world drain away. But Dean's words from a week ago were still echoing in his ears, and that kept him sane and sober, at least for the moment.
> 
> "Cas." Dean gave a wan smile. "C'mon in."
> 
> Castiel stepped into the room. Dean had a chair pulled out from his desk, and he indicated to it, sitting on the bed himself and folding his hands between his parted knees. "Before we start talking, I just want to say I'm sorry," he began. "The shit that came out of my mouth last week was rude and thoughtless, and just plain mean. I've got no excuse."
> 
> Shaking his head, Castiel said, "It was rude, but the big problem's not what you said, Dean. It's what's behind it."
> 
> "I know." Dean sighed. "You're such a mystery to me sometimes, Cas. I grew up in a place where religion -- well, Christianity -- is about being seen at church on Sundays and putting up Christmas lights. There's people who really believe, sure, but not like you do. Not so much that they actually change how they live their lives for the sake of it. I don't wanna say it's all for show, but it's different. It doesn't affect things like what you eat, or what you wear, or who you date."
> 
> "That's partly because Western culture is centered around Christianity," Castiel said. "You don't have to change your daily life because daily life was built up around Christians. Hence Christmas being a national holiday, and Sunday being a day off. Et cetera."
> 
> "Hm. I never thought about it that way. But it still seems different. I don't know. I just never met someone who lived and breathed their religion the way you do. It changes the way you make decisions, and I just... I don't really know _why_."
> 
> Castiel rocked in his chair for a minute. Gabriel had also asked him why, and Castiel hadn't had a good answer then, either. "I don't know if I can explain it to you, Dean. It's part of who I am, and I want it to be part of who I am, and who my children are, for the rest of my life. So I have to be careful about who I get close to, because I don't want to fall in love and end up compromising my religious principles for the sake of another person."
> 
> "But you have to compromise something," Dean said. "That's what being with someone means. Even if it's someone Jewish, you could have different ways of observing something, right?"
> 
> "Maybe." Castiel hated doubt. He hated the way it burned at the bottom of his heart, like some rebel fire he couldn't put out. "But the tradition would be there.  The basics, at least. But we’re working from two different scripts, here, Dean. And my script says, when you find someone, find someone who’s a Jew, because otherwise you’ll end up changing. Not just that. You’ll end up betraying everything you came from. You’ll become less of who you are if you take that step."
> 
> "But that’s not what I want!" Dean gestured frantically. "I like you just the way you are. And I don't want you to change, or become less observant, or anything like that. I'm just trying to understand."
> 
> "Then understand this." Castiel could hear the hardness in his own voice, but he couldn't stop it. "For generations, non-Jews have been saying to Jews, why can't you just be a little more like us? Why can't you be a little more normal? And sometimes, some of us had said yes, because it's easier. It's easier to let go of traditions, and compromise, and sometimes leave Judaism behind entirely. But those of us who stay as we are, we're carrying on a beautiful tradition, something that's spanned generations and survived all kinds of persecution. It’s a point of pride that we don’t compromise. I look at you and I see a future where I turn my back on that, and it’s frightening. It’s everything I’ve sworn my whole life I’ll never be."
> 
> Dean stared at him, silently, for a long time. "Then I guess you've already made a decision," he said finally. "I'm sorry, Cas. For everything. For making you question your principles. For not understanding. I guess it's better if we're not even friends, huh?"
> 
> Castiel's heart dropped to the floor. Now it was his turn to stare, and all he could think, looking at Dean's face, was that all of this was wrong.

* * *

Castiel has led Dean out of the sanctuary and is showing him the religious school when his phone buzzes. He drags it out of his pocket to see a note from Gabriel:

_I'm up. Mom says you're at shul? WTF?_

Grinning, Castiel declares their sojourn to Beth Israel concluded and nearly runs all the way home.

There's big bear hugs and slaps on the back waiting for him when he returns, and a more energetic greeting to Dean. Mom makes clucking noises over the reunion and then retreats to her office as Gabriel sits back down at the kitchen table. He has somehow managed to find a cache of baked goods in the pantry and resumes consuming mini sugar buns. Dean has pie-plate eyes looking at them, so Gabriel offers them both one. Dean takes one; Castiel demurs.

"So," Gabriel says, leaning over the table, "you could have told me, ya know."

"Told you?" Castiel squints.

"That it was Dean. I mean, I guessed, back at Pesach, but when you called me, for some reason I thought it was someone else."

"What's he talking about?" Dean gives Castiel a confused look.

Castiel's fighting off a fresh flood of horror. Of course Gabriel would figure it out. He should have thought of that. He should have told Gabriel in advance, warned him. But Gabriel's such a big mouth, there's no telling what he would have done with the information. Probably let it slip to Mom in a random phone conversation. Panicking, he grips the table and stares at Gabriel with daggers in his eyes.

"Mom doesn't know," he says. "You can't say anything."

"She doesn't know?" Gabriel snorts. "How the hell can she not know? You two do nothing but look at each other with googly eyes."

"We told her Dean has a girlfriend," Castiel says. "She believes it. I'm begging you, Gabriel. Don't ruin this for us. I don't want Dean to get the Kali treatment."

"Hey. You two. I'm right here." Dean frowns. "What's a Kali treatment?"

Gabriel rolls his eyes. "A couple of years ago I was going out with an Indian girl named Kali. Made the mistake of letting Mom know about it."

"After the screaming was over, Mom went into passive-aggressive mode," Castiel says. "Asking all kinds of inappropriate questions about Kali's religion and culture. 'Don't they worship idols,' et cetera. It was painful to watch."

"It wasn't fun," Gabriel says. "I mean, luckily, Mom never said that stuff to her face. Still, things with Kali went sour pretty soon after. And to be brutally honest about it, I don't know if Mom's reaction got to me somehow. Made me act weird around her. I try not to think about it too much." He shrugs. "Kali was way out of my league anyway. No big."

"No big for you," Castiel says, glancing at Gabriel. "For us, I think it would be harder."

"'Harder,'" Gabriel echoes, and snorts.

Castiel kicks him under the table. "You know what I mean. You'd been with Kali a couple of weeks. It's..." He flushes. "It's different with us."

Gabriel lets out a slow whistle. "So it's serious, eh?"

"Despite our best efforts," Castiel says. He turns around to make sure Mom hasn't popped out of her office, then dares to touch Dean's hand briefly. "Yeah, it's serious."

* * *

> Silence hung in the air for far too long. Dean sat there, his brow furrowed, shoulders hunched forward and trembling a little. Castiel looked at him, examining the line of his face and the breadth of his body, feeling as though he had to memorize it all now, or he'd never get the chance again.
> 
> "You, uh..." Dean said, giving a shaky sigh. "You should probably go. I'm... not going to get over you with you sitting right there, you know."
> 
> "Get over me," Castiel echoed. The words felt funny on his tongue. "I don't..." _I don't want you to get over me,_ he thought. A sentence like a lightning bolt, scorching his mind by the truth of it. He didn't want to have to get over Dean, either. He wanted them to fix this, so they could be together.
> 
> That was what was so frustrating, wasn't it? He'd come over with some unreasonable dream that they'd figure it all out and get to be together. That there'd be some epiphany to take all the problems away. But there wasn't. There was nothing either of them could say that would eliminate the fact that Dean wasn't Jewish, and Castiel never planned to date a non-Jew.
> 
> "Dean," he started. "This... this isn't going to go away. I'm always going to be Jewish. I'm always going to do things you don't understand. Make decisions you wouldn't have made. It's always going to affect how I live my life."
> 
> "I know," Dean said with a heavy sigh.
> 
> "But knowing that," Castiel went on, "if it were okay with me... you'd still choose to be with me?"
> 
> Dean's eyes widened, and he looked up, catching Castiel's gaze. Hope lit his face. "Yeah," he breathed. "Yeah, absolutely, Cas. Don't fuck with me, now."
> 
> "I'm not. I'm just trying to figure this out." And Castiel really didn't know where he was going. He just knew he couldn't leave Dean behind. Not like this, at least. "I have to ask this. Have you thought about children? Can you imagine them growing up without celebrating Christmas? Never eating a cheeseburger? Can you imagine picking them up at Hebrew school, not being able to understand the language they're learning to speak there?"
> 
> "Christmas is easy," Dean answered. "Screw Christmas. But the rest of it... I don't know, dude. Maybe. I have to think about it. I mean, are we getting engaged here? Because I'm not ready for that."
> 
> Castiel had to laugh a little at that. "No," he said. "But we can't be together without that possibility. We have to acknowledge it."
> 
> "So I'd have some time to get used to the idea." Dean smiled wanly.
> 
> "And I can't promise I'll always be all right with a 'maybe,'" Castiel said. "Things might change. I might change."
> 
> Dean examined his face. "But you're all right with it now?" There was a lightness in his voice that hadn't been there before.
> 
> Castiel took a moment, biting back the words on the tip of his tongue. Was he sure? Was he simply doing the easy thing? If he went home tonight and lay alone in his bed, would he feel as though he'd compromised away something that he should have kept?
> 
> But he could run away from this, or he could face it and try to live with it. And he'd been running for a week, and it had only made him feel like a piece of his soul was gone.
> 
> He thought about Gabriel, about the phone conversation they'd had not an hour ago. He wasn't tossing away his traditions. They were something to consider, but they weren't the only thing. If he let Dean go, he'd lose something he cared about. If he tried to make this work, there was a chance he'd lose something, sure. But there was also a chance that they'd find some way for Castiel to go on respecting himself and his heritage. And that chance -- that possibility of being whole -- was something Castiel would be willing to work for.
> 
> "Cas?" Dean said gently. "Say something, dude. Tell me yes or tell me no, just say something."
> 
> Castiel met his gaze. And the words melted right off his tongue.
> 
> "Yes," he said. "Dean. Yes. Let's try."
> 
> Then he was swept up out of the chair, Dean's arms around him, Dean's breath hot against his face. The kiss that followed filled his whole body with light and warmth. He wound his arms around Dean's neck, ran his fingers into Dean's hair, sighing and smiling against soft lips. How he'd ached for this, for days on end. How he'd dreamed of melting into Dean's arms like everything would be all right. And now -- well, there was no promise that everything would be all right, but there was hope.

* * *

For the fourth night of Hanukkah, Gabriel lights the candles and sings the blessings in an overdramatic vibrato. Abe clears his throat uncomfortably, and Evelyn rolls her eyes, but neither of them stop him. Dean sniggers. Castiel just shakes his head. He would have expected nothing less.

Gabriel presents Abe with a gift of shot glasses, which Abe is thankful for up until the moment he sees the donkeys printed on them -- or, more specifically, what those donkeys are doing. He clucks his tongue, and Evelyn says "Gabriel!" in that half-shocked, half-chiding voice. Gabriel just grins all the harder.

His gifts to the rest of the family are a little tamer, but still silly -- a salt and pepper shaker in the shape of a dowdy, cartoonish couple for Evelyn, and a T-shirt for Castiel that reads "If you think I'm cute, you should see my big brother." Gabriel apologizes profusely to Dean for not having a gift for him, but Dean just claps him on the shoulder and grins at him. It's actually a little scary how well they're already getting along.

After Mom and Dad go to bed, Gabriel, Castiel and Dean sit in the living room, drinking a bit of leftover wine and catching up. Dean puts his arm around Castiel's shoulder, and it feels so damn good to just lean into the touch, without fear or worry. Gabriel's presence is like a calming potion, granting him confidence and serenity he sorely needed. As funny as it is to think of Gabriel inspiring anything to be serene.

But it's such a lovely time that Castiel turns to Dean at the end of the night and says, "I think Gabriel should come to Sam's party tomorrow, don't you?"

"Holy crap, that's tomorrow?" Dean shakes his head. "Time flies."

Gabriel perks up. "Did you say something about a party?"

"My brother," Dean says. "He throws a Christmas Eve Eve party every year. This year it's in town, at his friend's place off campus. You up for it?"

"Hells, yeah," Gabriel says with a grin. "Let's light this candle!"

Castiel nods and nestles further into Dean's shoulder. When they say good night, Castiel turns to Dean and kisses him soundly, right there in front of Gabriel. It's a dangerous move, but it's becoming easier and easier for Castiel to let down his guard. They've made it three days without being caught, after all. What could go wrong now?

And if a part of him warns that the answer is "everything," well, Castiel's too relaxed and happy to care.


	5. Little Brothers Rock, Too (Part 1)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many thanks to @Crowgirl42 and @feministlib for a thoughtful beta, and to @DazedRose for beautiful art! 
> 
> I feel the need to put a disclaimer on this fic because I'm afraid it may not reflect others' concept or experience with Judaism. This fic reflects my experience with my Jewish upbringing, and nobody else's. It portrays both the good and the bad as I experienced it, and deals with questions of the meaning and purpose of religion. Please don't go into this expecting a blanket statement about Judaism, either positive or negative. I'm well aware this may be touching on a sensitive subject, so I do hope you won't come away from it feeling as though I've inaccurately depicted your experience, or unfairly elevated or denigrated the faith. I've tried to be fair, but in the end these characters have opinions and make decisions, and they might not align with yours. I hope that’s all right.

The ringing of the kitchen phone wakes Castiel up. It's past 10, according to the hazy vision of the clock that floats before his bleary eyes. He feels groggy and kind of hung over, but that's probably more the fault of the company than the drink; Gabriel tends to be exhausting.

The phone goes on ringing even after Castiel's groaned, gotten out of bed, and wandered down the stairs, tripping over his pajama bottoms with every step. He peeks through the window beside the front door; the cars are gone. Mom must have had to go show a house. Where Dean and Gabriel are, Castiel has no idea. Sighing, he traipses into the kitchen to answer the phone.

"Hello," he grunts, eyeing the coffeemaker like it's his salvation.

"Oh.” It’s not a pleased sound. “I suppose this is Castiel. Hello, Castiel. I was expecting your mother to answer.”

Castiel gets the cold shivers. "Hi, Uncle Zachariah."

“Yes, ah, hello. How are you?  How’s school?”

"School's good," Castiel says, "thanks." He tries to keep his tone even. Zachariah rubs him the wrong way, and this is part of why. He never seems quite comfortable talking to his nephews, as though they’re an obstacle he has to fight past in order to get to his real objective. If Uncle Lucas plays too much the part of the cool uncle, Zachariah is the opposite. Castiel gets the feeling extended family is a chore he'd rather not deal with.

"That's good. Glad to hear it." Zachariah is silent on the line for a few moments, and yeah, this is where things get awkward.

"Um, how are you?" Castiel offers. "How's work?"

"Business is business," Zachariah replies. "I'd tell you about the Ansell we got in stock recently, but I'm sure that's not interesting to a young man like you."

Castiel would protest, but he’s long since learned that Zachariah's art gallery is not a place for him. When he was young, The Green Room was a forbidden place, and Uncle Zachariah would tut-tut and refuse to let him anywhere near. Perhaps that's where the antipathy comes from. Since childhood, Castiel has always seen Zachariah as the gatekeeper to a place too grown-up and serious for Castiel to enter. Now that he's grown up, the modus operandi is different, but the message is the same: _What I do is too lofty for you to comprehend, and what you do is too petty to concern me._

“Well, I suppose I’ll have to give your mother a call back a little later,” Zachariah says, giving a peeved little sigh. “I don’t suppose _you_ would know if we should bring anything Friday. You know we’ll be coming over, of course? I had to give my employees the day off for Christmas. Ridiculous.” He snorts. “As though I ever got the holidays off when I was working my way up in the world. You’ll see, Castiel. Once you have to use _your_ hard-earned vacation days for Rosh Hashana and Pesach, you’ll understand how unfair things can be.”

How in the world is Castiel supposed to answer that? Is Zachariah asking for sympathy? Or permission to make his employees work on Christmas as some sort of lopsided payback? No, more than likely he’s just enjoying lording it over Castiel, displaying his worldly knowledge. Castiel lets him run off at the mouth, waiting patiently for the moment in the conversation when he’s actually supposed to respond.

When it arrives, he says quickly, "I'll tell Mom you called." His ears prick up as he hears the front door open. "I've got to go now, Uncle Zachariah. Take care."

He hangs up, and shivers as though he could shake the icky feeling right off. Someday he'll get the hang of talking to Uncle Zachariah without feeling as though he's being slowly submerged in garbage. It'll happen. Eventually.

More importantly, Dean and Gabriel are bounding into the kitchen, rosy-cheeked, carrying donuts and coffee from the local chain. His face lighting up, Castiel surges forward to meet them. He pulls away the bag of donuts and sets them on the kitchen island, then leans in to give Dean a kiss hello.

Dean's hands are frigid on Castiel's waist, even through the T-shirt, and Castiel gasps. "When did you guys get up?"

"Not so long ago," Dean says, gazing at him with clear, blinking eyes. They're so bright, and his cheeks so pink, that Castiel is hit with a wave of affection. He presses forward for more kisses, melting against Dean unashamedly until Gabriel finally has had enough and clears his throat.

"Geez, you two are pent up, aren't ya?" he says once Dean and Castiel have broken apart. Dean looks sheepish, but a smile is trying hard to break through his tight-pressed lips. Castiel probably looks much the same, he figures.

"Then again," Gabriel goes on, "I guess you would be. I can't imagine having to play platonic for a week. It'd probably kill me. If I had someone to play platonic with, that is." A pout rising to his lips, Gabriel reached forward and started rummaging through the donut bag. "But if I did, I can't imagine I'd want to keep my hands off them that long."

"We've had--" Dean starts.

"Dean!" Castiel glares at him. Gabriel decidedly _doesn't_ need to know about the parking lot. Or their game of "poker" in the guest room.

Gabriel chortles. "You kids keep your secrets. Lord knows I've got mine." He finds a chocolate glazed donut and bites into it. Chocolate goes all over his lips.

Castiel tosses him a napkin. "Did you get me a Boston Creme?"

"Of course we did," Dean and Gabriel reply in unison. Castiel snorts. He grabs the bag and digs for buried treasure.

* * *

> Finals came along too soon. So did summer vacation. And by the time August was rounding its final bend, Castiel was more than ready to go back to school.
> 
> He missed his friends, and he missed living in the dorms. And oh, God, did he ever miss Dean.
> 
> They were robbed the luxury of a reunion. Dean showed up to say hello while Castiel's parents were still helping him move his belongings from car to room. Castiel gave him a careful hug, then let his parents take turns shaking Dean's hands.
> 
> All the while, his fingers itched.
> 
> As they finished setting up his stuff, Castiel took in the sight of Dean at every opportunity. The baby face. The strong curve of his neck. Big hands, broad shoulders. Oh, how he wanted to touch. How damned grateful he was when he finally walked his parents back down to the car and saw them off at the curb. He fairly bounced back to his room, eager to shower the man waiting there with a thousand kisses.
> 
> But the guy sitting in his room when he returned wasn't Dean.
> 
> "Hi!" said the stranger, who was about the size and shape of a toothpick. He jumped up to pump Castiel's hand. "I'm Garth. I'm your new roomie. Great to meet you!"
> 
> "Um." Castiel watched his hand go up and down in Garth's smaller one. Apparently size was no predictor of strength. "Hello. I'm Castiel. Um. There was someone in here before. Waiting."
> 
> "Oh, yeah! Your boyfriend Dean, right? He's cute. Way to go!" Garth beamed and elbowed Castiel in the waist like they were old friends sharing an inside joke.
> 
> "Yes. Him. Where did he _go_ ," Castiel said, his tone flat.
> 
> "Oh! I told him I was really looking forward to bonding with my new roomie, so he left to let us get to know each other. Really nice guy. So! Sit down, tell me about yourself." Garth plunked himself down on his own bed, legs crossed, evidently expecting Castiel to do the same. He looked a little bit like Kermit the Frog, sitting there with big beady eyes full of expectation.
> 
> Castiel pulled out his desk chair instead. "Did he say he'd be back?"
> 
> "Oh, shoot, I knew I forgot something. He said you should call him later and he'd show you the new single. He was pretty excited about that single. I dunno. I'd rather live with somebody, ya know? Meet new people, expand my horizons. What about you?"
> 
> Right now, Castiel was wishing he'd requested a single too. "I... can see both sides," he said carefully.
> 
> "Great! So what should we do today? I mean, obviously we've got to unpack, but we should definitely get lunch together, and maybe we can do dinner, too? I'd like to meet your friends. I have a couple of friends, but like i said. Expand my horizons. That's what it's all about, you know?"
> 
> Castiel felt terrible. All he wanted to do was run to Dean, but this guy was trying _so hard_ , and Castiel knew social awkwardness, knew that feeling of being desperate to make friends. "Sure," he said, "that sounds fine."
> 
> His day dragged. Garth was perfectly nice, if a tad overeager with questions and exclamations. But by the end of the day, Castiel was starting to resent him. He was rendered so impotent and so addled by Garth's persistent companionship that he completely forgot to call Dean and invite him to dinner. They went down to the dining hall alone, and while Castiel ran into Lisa, Victor and a few other friends, it was more an brief introduction than a get-together. Garth shook their hands, grinned at them, and then turned back to Castiel with another observation or question.
> 
> But when they got back upstairs, Castiel reached the limit of his patience.
> 
> "I'm going over to Dean's now," he informed Garth in clipped tones. "I probably won't be back tonight."
> 
> "Can I come?" were the first words from Garth's mouth. "I'd like to get to know Dean better."
> 
> Castiel just stared at him, incredulous.
> 
> "Okay," Garth said, stepping backward. "I'm sensing that's a no, then. It's cool. It's okay, buddy. We all need our time. Only, would you come back tonight, though? I kind of don't want to spend my first night alone."
> 
> Taking in a strangled breath, Castiel crumpled. "Fine. Okay."
> 
> "Really? You're a pal!" And Garth rushed forward and gave him a huge hug. What could Castiel do about an assault like that? He clapped a hand to Garth's back. Maybe he'd do better once he got settled in. He'd find his own friends, and he'd stop depending on Castiel so much.
> 
> Castiel would just have to survive until that day came.

* * *

Mom comes home shortly after, and instead of retreating to her office, she lingers in the kitchen and helps herself to a donut. Having both her sons home is making her glow like a pinball machine, and Castiel looks at her with a mix of affection and trepidation, knowing that when Mom gets really happy and comfortable, that's a pretty sure sign that embarrassment might be around the corner.

"Gabriel, sweetie," she says between bites of powdered donut that leave a white ring around her lips, "tell us about what's happening out in California. Are you still doing your work in that movie studio? I worry about whether you can live on that. Have you thought about finding a more steady job?"

"Mom, I'm not a starving artist. See? I can even buy my own donuts." Gabriel wiggles the bag in front of her. He glances at Dean. "She thinks because I work in a TV studio, I'm going to end up in a cardboard box on the street. I'm not even writing for them yet, I'm doing administrative crap. Planning events. It's boring as hell. But you gotta pay your dues."

"Gabriel wants to write for TV," Castiel says.

Dean nods. "You should, dude. You're hella funny."

"It's _such_ a competitive business, though," Evelyn says. "I just worry there's no stability."

"Ma! I have a salary. Benefits. Health insurance. It's all good."

When Gabriel doesn't bother with "Mom" and defaults to "Ma," it's a sign of rising tensions. Castiel looks for a way to derail the conversation. "You know we're going to a party tonight, right, Mom?" he says. "It might run late. Is there a time you want us back?"

Evelyn sits back and thinks about it for a minute. "I'd like you to be home by midnight. Just for our peace of mind, that you're not driving late at night."

"Pff! Midnight. We're not in high school anymore." Gabriel crosses his arms. "You gotta give us 'til one, at least."

"Is one of you a designated driver?" Mom asks.

"Whoa, someone turned your dial to worrywart this morning," Gabriel says. "It's cool, I'm not drinking. You know I like to get high on sugar instead."

Castiel suspects this is a little white lie. There's no way Gabriel stays dry through a whole party. "Thank you, Gabriel."

Gabriel glances at him, a little color in his cheeks. "Forget about it."

"I just love it when my two boys take care of each other," Evelyn says, plopping her head onto her hands and beaming.

Dean laughs. Castiel can feel a flush growing in his cheeks. He and Gabriel are probably a matched set now. It's odd to think of the two of them as "taking care of each other." Gabriel's hardly been a Dean to his Sam over the years. Still, lately things do seem to be getting a little better. Maybe that's what growing up does to a relationship.  

* * *

> Dean's new single was in Davidson, on the top floor. Room 1021, according to Dean's text, and Castiel repeated the number over and over under his breath as he jogged down the sidewalk. Just two blocks, and then up an elevator, and then into Dean's arms for the kisses that he'd craved for so long. And maybe more.
> 
> They never got around to actually having sex before the end of the year. Well, they had, if copious blowjobs and handjobs counted. (Which Castiel supposed they did, in the strictest sense of the word.) But they'd gotten tested as one of their last acts before spring finals stole their time away, and Castiel had spent the summer fantasizing about having Dean inside him. He wanted that, more than anything. To feel like they were joined, linked together in body as well as in heart.
> 
> He also hadn't told Dean that he loved him yet, and that was an oversight that needed rectifying as soon as possible.
> 
> But all the heart-pounding, face-flushing excitement came to an abrupt halt as Castiel approached Dean's door and heard laughter from inside that definitely wasn't Dean's.
> 
> What should he do? Dean wanted him to come over, that much was clear. But if there was someone else in Dean's room, should he wait, and come back later? As the unfamiliar voice said something else, and Dean burst into laughter, Castiel tried to pound down the prickle of jealousy that ran up his spine.
> 
> He forced himself to knock.
> 
> "Dude, he's here," he heard Dean say behind the door. A moment later, the door swung open and Castiel was faced with a glowing Dean and a man sitting on the bed behind him, tall and with shaggy hair.
> 
> "Come on in, dude," Dean said, and turned toward the stranger with a big grin. "Sammy, this is him. This is Cas."
> 
> Castiel's world brightened. Of course, Dean's brother. How had he forgotten? Stepping forward, stumbling over his greetings, he introduced himself and shook Sam's hand. Sam had a pleasant aura about him, and a wide smile that spoke of copious laughter in his life. He was also taller than Dean, which caught Castiel's notice. You didn't often see a younger brother tower over the elder, even one who was only younger by a year and a half.
> 
> "I'm so happy to meet you," Sam said, his voice effusive. "Dean hasn't stopped talking about you all summer long."
> 
> "I hope he hasn't told you everything," Castiel said, meaning it.
> 
> But Sam laughed. "He's been a perfect gentleman. Most of the time."
> 
> "What the-- what the hell does that mean?" Dean's outrage was purely to elicit laughter, and it worked. Castiel took a seat on the loveseat crowded into a corner near the window, and within minutes all three of them were talking like old friends. Sam was engaging and smart, and watching him and his brother banter made Castiel's heart swell with delight. Unlike Garth, who had made Castiel painfully aware every minute of the time with Dean he was missing, Sam made Castiel forget all about it.
> 
> In fact, it was Sam who suddenly clapped his hands and stood up, cutting off the conversation. "I just realized, you two probably want some alone time," he said. "I guess I've been kind of a third wheel."
> 
> Castiel and Dean both protested, but Sam shook his head. "I should get back to my dorm anyway," he said. "My roommate's this kid named Kevin. Sweet guy, honors student. You'll have to meet him later, Dean. Cas, it was super nice to meet you. I'm sure I'll be seeing you around." And with that, he was through the door. Castiel got up and went to the doorway to wave goodbye, but Sam had already rounded the corner to the elevator and was gone.
> 
> And then there they were.
> 
> Alone, together. For the first time since the spring.
> 
> Castiel couldn't move. All of the words he'd been saving up for this moment tangled on his tongue. His throat and mouth were dry. As Dean closed the door behind them, he fought hard to unscramble his thoughts and feelings. His hands opened and closed uselessly at his sides.
> 
> "So," Dean said, facing him. "Cas."
> 
> "Yes." Castiel had to clear his throat. "Hello... hello again, Dean."
> 
> The corners of Dean's mouth turned up. "Hey, Cas."
> 
> Silence, heavy and thick as fog, hung in the air.
> 
> Then Dean's lips quirked again. "Damn it," he muttered. "Get over here."
> 
> His arms opened -- palms wide and welcoming -- and Castiel flew to him, melting into the arms that closed around him, reaching up to touch Dean's face, the spiky ruffle of his hair, the back of his neck. Their foreheads came together, a light, warm touch. Dean's smile, so close. His eyes sparkling. Castiel aglow with love and need and relief. All pieces of a puzzle that finally fit together, here in his moment, this embrace.
> 
> "Damn, I missed you," Dean murmured, his voice breaking a bit.
> 
> "Dean," Castiel said, and it felt like everything he ever wanted to say.
> 
> The kiss they fell into felt like springtime, everything new and fresh and exciting again. Castiel had nearly forgotten just how Dean’s kiss could illuminate his whole world. His knees wobbled. Dean lifted a hand to cup his face, and the contact lit him up inside. When they parted, Castiel was trembling. He hung on to Dean's shoulders and leaned forward to bury his face in Dean's neck.
> 
> Dean shuddered at the touch and let out an "Oh." Cas marveled that he could make Dean feel that way. He pressed patterns of kisses and licks into Dean's neck, grinning as he felt Dean go hard against his body.  Shifting, Castiel let him know with a press of hips that the feeling was mutual.
> 
> Dean hissed a curse in his ear. "Missed you so damn much. Want you."
> 
> "Dean..." The name fell from Castiel's mouth sounding like a groan. There was pushing and pulling, and the stumble of feet, and then they were on the bed, Dean pressing Castiel into the mattress. They kissed and groaned as their bodies moved together, hips rolling against each other in hot waves. Castiel wrapped his legs around Dean's waist. All this, fully clothed. They couldn't even wait long enough to get naked.
> 
> "Want you so freakin' bad," Dean whispered into his lips. "Want you for real, Cas. Wanna be in you, wanna feel you around me."
> 
> Castiel took in a sucking breath. He pressed up against Dean, his cock throbbing in his pants. "God, yes, " he hissed without thinking. "Yes, Dean, yes, I want--"
> 
> And then Garth's face popped into his head, worried and wanting, full of lonely trepidation.
> 
> "Damn it," he murmured. "Dean, I... I can't. My roommate, he's... I have to go back tonight."
> 
> Dean glanced at the clock. "We’ve still got time," he said, and leaned forward to run his tongue along the shell of Castiel's ear.
> 
> "But I don't want it like this," Castiel said, and that brought Dean to a standstill. "I want it to be -- I want to stay the night. I want us to take our time. I want..." _I want it to be special_ , he thought, but somehow he couldn't say those words out loud. _I want to tell you everything you mean to me. I want to love you, knowing you love me too. I want that night to be all about us._
> 
> Sighing against his neck, Dean nodded. "All right, Cas. Okay." He eased off of him to lie beside him on the bed. There was barely room for both of them, but somehow they managed to make it work. Castiel pressed close into Dean's shoulder, inhaling deeply, appreciating the scent and the closeness.
> 
> "That doesn't mean we have to do nothing," Cas murmured, dropping one hand to the lump in Dean's pants and massaging.
> 
> Dean let out a groan. "Oh, thank God."

* * *

Mom wants to spend the morning with her kids, and especially with the party (and freedom) coming up, Castiel doesn't see a problem in indulging her. She drags Castiel down to the basement, shows him old boxes of his stuff that he wanted to store when he went to school. Half of it Castiel's still attached to -- his Star Wars figures from when he was a child, the Superman graphic novels he collected as a young teenager -- but a lot of it's nonsense, old notebooks containing scrawled notes on 7th grade algebra, that kind of thing. He helps Mom clear out some of the boxes, as Gabriel looks through his own boxes and occasionally discovers something he can parade around. His picture of Castiel with a literal stick up his ass is a proud example. Mom tries to suppress her giggle and fails. Castiel doesn’t find it funny at all.

Around noon, Sam texts Dean to ask if they can come over a little early to help set up. Mom pouts, but Castiel convinces her that an extra hour isn't the end of the world. Around three, they pile into Gabriel's rental car and go cruising into the city. Castiel sits in the back with Dean, at Gabriel's insistence. He and Dean hold hands and glance at each other as Gabriel eases onto the highway. Maybe they are just a little pent up.

Sam's upperclass friend is named Christian, and Dean doesn't like him much. Still, he offers a hello when the three of them appear at his door, and ushers them into one hell of an apartment. Sam's sitting on a couch talking to Kevin and a few other people, but he jumps up to greet the new guests. "Hey!" he says, and manages to scoop both Dean and Castiel up in a bear hug.

Dean looks around at the people, at the ready buffet on the far table and the chairs already sitting at comfortable intervals throughout the wide living area. "Thought we were here to set up," he said.

"Oh, yeah," Sam says. "Well, we got it done pretty quickly, and people wanted to come over early, so... I guess the party just starts now. Can I take your coats?"

Dean and Castiel are happy to hand them over, but Gabriel steps back and frowns. "I'm not giving my coat to a stranger," he says. "Someone introduce me and we'll talk."

Dean guffaws and obliges. "A little brother, huh?" Gabriel says as he shakes Sam's hand. He gives Sam a pretty obvious once-over. "Are you the pain-in-the-ass type or the nice type? And did Dean give you permission to grow seventy feet tall?"

"You're only saying that because you're the size of a hobbit," Castiel interjects. Gabriel gives him a death glare.

Sam laughs. "I think I can guess which type you are."

"I am a fricking _angel_ ," Gabriel protests. "Look, I even brought gifts." He reaches deep into his coat pocket and pulls out a little netted bag full of chocolate coins wrapped in gold foil. He plops it into Sam's hand. "Happy Hanukkah, Sasquatch."

For just a minute, Sam's face glows with pleasure, and Castiel grins. There's something about Gabriel and Sam getting along that pleases him. Maybe it's just the idea of the brothers having someone to talk to should he and Dean sneak off to another room.

He takes in a deep breath and shakes his head. His mind is going to all dirty places this afternoon. He needs to calm down, relax and enjoy the party. Taking Dean's hand, he sights Lisa across the room and pulls Dean along to say hello.

* * *

> Dean and Castiel didn't get the next night all to themselves, either. Or the night after that. It wasn't all Garth's fault -- there were parties and get-togethers and meetings of various sorts -- but Castiel couldn't help feeling, as the days dragged along, that Garth was somehow secretly responsible for every last twist of fate that kept him and Dean from having their long-coveted first time.
> 
> Because Garth wanted to go to the meeting of the Latin club, but he didn't want to go alone. And once classes started, he was struggling understanding calculus. When Castiel was tempted to skip the icebreaker with the RA, Garth thought it wasn't a good idea given that the RA had the power to make your life miserable. And so on, and so forth, a week and a half into Castiel's sophomore year and he was still a blushing virgin. Actually, Castiel thought, a red-with-frustration virgin would be a more apt metaphor.
> 
> He and Dean had lunch at Hillel again regularly this year, despite the lack of a Religion 101 class the hour before. Castiel scooped up his soggy green beans and dried-out chicken breasts out of the pans, and sat down for a delightfully Garthless hour of communion with his boyfriend. Slurping down the green beans mindlessly, he complained to Dean.
> 
> "He sounds like a little punk," said Dean.
> 
> Despite himself, Castiel leapt to Garth's defense. "He's not, really," he said. "He's just doing his best at a new school. It's hard to transfer in after freshman year. I can understand it."
> 
> "Yeah, but he's only thinking of himself," Dean protested. "He's not thinking about your needs at all. Or my needs, for that matter." He slid his leg against Castiel's under the table and winked.
> 
> Castiel took in a breath. His cheeks were likely going pink. "But I can't just yell at him for being who he is. He's not doing anything wrong. He's just being friendly."
> 
> Dean cast his eyes to the heavens. "You gonna let him run you around all year long? We've barely had a single friggin' date since we got back to school."
> 
> "That's not entirely true." They had made it to a movie or two, and made out in the back row like teenagers when the talking heads on screen got boring.
> 
> "You know what I mean."
> 
> What he _meant_ was staying over. Castiel sighed. "But every time I go out he asks me when I'll be back. And I just don't have the heart to say 'I won't.'"
> 
> "It ain't heart you need, Cas. It's guts. Look, if this is about you not being ready..."
> 
> "It's not," Castiel interjected. He grabbed Dean's hand across the table. "I'm ready. I'm so ready."
> 
> "Then make it happen." There was pleading in Dean's tone. "Unless you want me to talk to him myself."
> 
> "No." Castiel could tell how that would turn out. Garth would turn quickly against Dean and spend the next semester complaining about him to Castiel. It would be a nightmare. "I'll... I'll figure something out."
> 
> "Ya know, there's only so much you can do for him," Dean said. "At some point he's gonna have to let go of your hand and get out there on his own. Maybe it'd be better for him if you laid down the law sooner than later."
> 
> "It just doesn't seem like a very nice thing to do."
> 
> Dean shrugged. "Nice'll only get you so far."

**To be continued…**


	6. Little Brothers Rock, Too (Part 2)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many thanks to @Crowgirl42 and @feministlib for a thoughtful beta, and to @DazedRose for beautiful art!-
> 
> I feel the need to put a disclaimer on this fic because I'm afraid it may not reflect others' concept or experience with Judaism. This fic reflects my experience with my Jewish upbringing, and nobody else's. It portrays both the good and the bad as I experienced it, and deals with questions of the meaning and purpose of religion. Please don't go into this expecting a blanket statement about Judaism, either positive or negative. I'm well aware this may be touching on a sensitive subject, so I do hope you won't come away from it feeling as though I've inaccurately depicted your experience, or unfairly elevated or denigrated the faith. I've tried to be fair, but in the end these characters have opinions and make decisions, and they might not align with yours. I hope that’s all right.

The party is nice, for a few reasons. It's freeing because Castiel and Dean can be together, holding hands or arms slung about each other, but it's also freeing in that he and Dean don't have to be joined at the hip. At home, Castiel feels a pressure to be there for Dean, take care of him and protect him that just isn't present here. So while Dean chats with a couple of his buddies from classes, Castiel wanders the room and ends up alongside Aaron Bass.

Aaron is Jewish, and probably the kind of guy Castiel's parents would love to see him end up with. He's serious, pleasant, and, notably, pre-med. Not that Castiel's folks really put a lot of stock in the "marry a doctor or a lawyer" wisdom of generations past, but Aaron's bona fides probably wouldn't hurt. Castiel considered trying to get to know him better, briefly, before Dean came into the picture. But at the time, Aaron was spending a lot of time in the company of a tall, burly Polish guy who looked like he'd flip tables at the merest provocation, and Castiel just wasn't that brave.

He did make friends with Aaron eventually, though, and it's nice to have a gay friend. At awkward social events, he and Aaron usually spend some time sizing up the landscape. Now, he notes Aaron having a good long look at Gabriel, and says, "You don't know what you'd be getting into."

"I'm just window shopping," Aaron says lightly. "You think I'm going to make a pass at your brother while you're standing there? Yeah, I know he's your brother," he adds. "I heard you introducing him to Sam."

"It doesn't matter to me who my brother sleeps with," Castiel says. "If it did, I would have needed a lot of therapy since high school."

"Oh, that type?" Aaron raises his eyebrows. "Maybe I will give it a shot, then." He has a sly grin on his face, but Castiel suspects he's just talking big. "How are you and Dean?"

"Ugh," Castiel sighs. The strength goes out of his shoulders, and he slumps.

Aaron puts a hand on his arm. "That doesn't sound good."

"It's not," Castiel starts, but his voice catches in his throat. He shakes his head and tries again. "Dean's great. We're great. We've just... he's been staying with us for the week and, uh, it's really stressful."

"Parents don't like him?"

"Parents like him fine," Castiel says. "As my _friend_."

"Ohhh." Aaron nods. "That's rough."

"I don't think I realized it would be this hard," Castiel admits. "And Friday will be more difficult, because we'll have aunts and uncles visiting."

Aaron nods. "Nothing like a dose of family judgment."

"They're good people, my parents. But I'm afraid of what will happen if they find out, or guess. We've fabricated a girlfriend for Dean and everything, but something could still happen. It's so hard not to..." He flushes. "Not to touch him, just in little ways. Little things that could give us away."

"Have you thought about just telling your parents?" Aaron says in a quiet voice. His eyes are bright with concern.

Castiel chokes out a laugh. "I can't imagine. The fallout would be unbelievable."

"Why? What would they do?"

Ruminating on the question a moment, Castiel realizes he doesn't have a clear answer. "Whatever it is, it would be ugly."

"But you and Dean are serious, right? You can't expect to keep him a secret forever. Sooner or later you're going to have to tell them, and wouldn't sooner be better?"

The question stirs something unpleasant in Castiel. Stomach roiling, he looks away and catches something sort of odd. Gabriel and Sam are grinning at each other, and as Castiel watches, they high-five. Sam checks his watch, then heads out of the room, pulling out his phone as he goes. Gabriel stares after him, the remains of a grin still pulling at his lips. He digs his hands deep into his pockets and starts gaily presenting packets of Hanukkah gelt to random partygoers.

"Cas." Aaron prods him. "I'm just saying, maybe you should think about it."

Castiel turns back and meets Aaron's gaze. He nods. "I know I should," he says. "It's just hard. What if they throw Dean out of the house? What if--"

"Gelt, gelt, gelt!"

Gabriel sticks his nose in between the two of them. "Want some gelt?" he says.

Castiel frowns. "What were you and Sam talking about?"

"Pfft." Gabriel rolls his eyes. "Brother stuff. Nothing for you to worry about. Boy, that Sam's a good kid, isn't he? A good egg. I wish he were a couple of years older."

The implications make Castiel groan. "Don't."

Aaron gleefully accepts a packet of gelt, and sticks out his other hand for Gabriel to shake.

While Aaron flirts, Castiel thinks about what he said. What _if_ he were to just tell his parents everything? To let them know that regardless of their approval, this was his life and he would live it the way he chose? Hypothetically, it sounds like the obvious thing to do. If he were giving advice to someone else, with someone else's family, that's what he would say. But this is _his_ family. They have ties, they have history. Relationships that might be bruised or broken. What would be a clear-cut case in anyone else's life is unbearably messy in his own.

And Castiel has never been very good at drawing hard lines. It seems so much easier to use diplomacy, to come to a compromise. And one thing he truly hates is to be the cause of someone else's anger.

* * *

> "What are you doing tonight?" Garth said, oh so casually, halfway through Shabbat afternoon.
> 
> Castiel tried to keep his own voice casual. "Not much. I'll probably go to _Havdalah_ , then go hang out with Dean."
> 
> "That's, what, some kind of ceremony for the end of Shabbat? Hey, maybe I could come see it. Hang out with you and Dean for a while after."
> 
> Ouch. Castiel tried not to visibly cringe, but there it was -- another insidiously innocent way of inserting himself into Castiel's social life. Garth wasn't doing it on purpose -- at least, Castiel didn't think he was -- but it had the same effect. Castiel was reminded of a poem he read in a class last semester. Yeats, it was, maybe. Or Lawrence. About a snake sneaking into a garden. Not because it was evil, but because that's what snakes do.
> 
> "Maybe next week?" he offered, half an olive branch and half a tentative nudge.
> 
> Garth didn't feel the nudge, or didn't recognize it. "What's wrong with tonight? You said not much was going on."
> 
> Castiel wavered. "I know, I just... next week would be better."
> 
> "Why?" Big, blinking eyes from Garth.
> 
> "Because..." Castiel cleared his throat, trying to summon up some courage. "Because I'd like to spend some time alone with Dean."
> 
> "But didn't you guys have dinner Thursday night, while I was at Latin club? I got back at 11, and you still weren't home."
> 
> Castiel blushed. He and Dean had gotten a little carried away, and his promised return time of 11 had slipped past before he recognized it. He'd left Dean pretty high and dry on Thursday, throwing his clothes on and rushing home. "You're right. But I just..."
> 
> "Do you not like having me around?" Garth asked. "Because if so, I'll understand. You've been very nice to me so far, but I don't want to be a burden."
> 
> The way he said it just made Castiel feel like the worst kind of jerk for wanting to say yes. "No, it's not that," he said.
> 
> "Then what's the problem with tonight?" Garth asked again.
> 
> And Castiel was on the verge of conceding, of saying "no problem" and "come along." He really was. But something changed, and he sat up stiffly, clenching a fist.
> 
> "Garth," he heard himself say. "Enough."
> 
> Garth's only response was a clueless "Huh?"
> 
> "Enough," Castiel repeated. He could hear his voice go low and dark, the way his father’s didwhen he was angry. "Enough policing when I come and go. Enough following me around. I want to spend the night with my boyfriend, alone, and that's what I'm going to do. I won't be back until morning. Maybe noon."
> 
> "Whoa, cowboy, ease up," Garth said, a little quaver in his voice. "I'm not trying to police you or follow you around. I thought we were friends. Friends do things together."
> 
> "If we're friends," Castiel said, "you need to understand that I have a life outside you. I have a boyfriend, and I need to spend time with him. You can't come along for that. You can't give me a curfew."
> 
> "Curfew? Castiel, what the hell are you talking about?" Garth sprang to his feet. "I've just asked when you'll be home! Why are you making me out to be the bad guy when all I've ever done is ask?"
> 
> Castiel wanted nothing more than to back down, to apologize. But he'd come too far, and he'd said too much. And he wasn't going to leave this room just to come back later, feeling like crap and like he was the jerk in this situation. He wasn't. He knew he wasn't. But somehow all he could think to do was apologize.
> 
> He slumped on the bed and took a few careful, low breaths. "I'm not saying you're a bad guy," he muttered. "I'm saying that the way you talk to me, sometimes, feels like a giant guilt trip, and I'm sick of it. I'm sick of feeling like I'm obligated to you, to take care of you at the expense of my own happiness."
> 
> "You don't have to take care of me, for Pete's sake!" Garth interjected.
> 
> "Good." Castiel's tone was pure ice. "Then I'm going to stay over at Dean's tonight. Agreed?"
> 
> "Yeah, sure, of course, have a good time," Garth said, throwing up his hands. "I don't know what got your gears all ground up, but I sure don't enjoy being on the receiving end of it. We'll talk tomorrow, when you're calmer."
> 
> Castiel wanted to shake out of his skin with rage. Still, Garth was making him feel as though it was his fault. How could Garth appear to have no remorse whatsoever, and Castiel was the one feeling like a heel? It hurt like hell. Was this what he had to look forward to, now? A year's worth of antagonism with the guy he was _living_ with? Was that the price of having a happy relationship?
> 
> He got up and started packing some things in an overnight bag. The sooner he got out of this room, the better. Existing in the same room with Garth was like living with a twenty-pound weight on his shoulders. He needed to clear his head and, more importantly, go live his life.

* * *

It's 7 p.m. and the last slices of pizza are being devoured from the raft of cardboard boxes covering the buffet table. There's a movie going strong on the big TV, and people are talking or drinking in various corners of the wide room. Castiel's energy is flagging a bit. It's been a long time since they arrived to set up, and paired with Mom's insistence on spending the morning with her boys, Castiel is about ready to tap out and go sleep on someone's bed somewhere.

No such luck. Sam rounds him and Dean up. "Hey, guys, I need to pick something up for the party and could use your help. Would you mind taking a short drive with me?"

"What the hell you picking up that needs three people?" Dean says, scowling.

"You'll see," Sam says. "Something special for the holidays."

Dean is neither convinced nor amused. "And whose car are we 'taking a short drive' in? Unless you flew home and picked up Dad's car while I wasn't looking."

"Um, that'd be mine."  

Dean and Castiel turn. Gabriel is standing against the wall, casual as anything. He lifts a hand and wiggles his fingers in a little wave hello.

"And I take it you know what this secret holiday present is?" Castiel says, eyeing Gabriel suspiciously.

"No idea. But Sam was going around looking for folks with a car, and it's my rental. I can do what I want with it."

Castiel frowns. He hasn't seen any evidence of Sam asking around about anything. In fact, there was a good chunk of the party when he hadn't been able to find Sam or Gabriel in the room at all.

"I'd really appreciate it," says Sam. "It's just a short drive, okay? I could really use both your guys's help."

He clasps his hands together like he's about to drop to his knees and pray for their assistance. Dean groans and rolls his eyes, but Castiel's seen that expression enough times to know Sam's already won. Pushing his hands into his pocket, Castiel shrugs. He might as well go along, too.

They make their way downstairs and bumble down the street toward where Gabriel is parked. A light snow is falling, not enough to stick, just enough to fill the air with tiny near-invisible flakes that dance in the wind more than fall to earth. To Castiel they're magical. When he was a child he used to imagine what it would be like to be a snowflake. Born in a cloud, sent freewheeling and hurtling toward earth, to be wrapped up in a blanket and then reborn as the blood of a flower in springtime.

The flakes fade behind the glass of a car window, and Castiel finds himself watching trees and streets as they go by. They're heading toward the outskirts of town, and while Castiel's grateful for the relative quiet, he's still bewildered as to what they're doing and why. Sam and Dean are chatting a bit, with Gabriel throwing in a remark every now and then, but Castiel stays quiet, feeling like he's dropped into a dream.

He doesn't know this part of town. It's close to the airport, but they didn't take that exit (Castiel was nursing a pet theory that they were going to pick someone up there). Instead, they're heading down a series of wide boulevards lined with glass and brick buildings. Hotels and convention centers and the like. Places for travelers. There's no retail here, no shops they could pick something up from. It's utterly bizarre.

Sam takes an abrupt left, making Castiel crash into Dean's shoulder with the inertia of the turn. When he looks up, he sees that they're pulling into one of the hotels' parking lots.

"Okay..." Dean draws out the word. "We're picking something up at a Holiday Inn?"

"Actually," Sam says lightly, "we're dropping something off."

Gabriel turns in his seat and lifts his hand. A key card is wedged between two fingers. "Merry Hanukkah and Happy Christmas," he says with a wicked smile.

Castiel and Dean look at him. They look at each other. Dean frowns. Castiel squints.

Then, in unison, they turn to the front seat. "What?!"

Sam laughs. "If you don't want it, we'll turn around and head back to the party. But I figured you might be missing some quality alone time."

"You're room 325," Gabriel says. "Enjoy the amenities. Steal shampoo bottles to take to school. Trust me on this one."

Dean finds words before Castiel does. "You bought us a _hotel room_!?"

Castiel struggles to catch up. "But we have to be home by..."

"One, yeah, I know," Gabriel says. "Which is why I'll be back to pick you up promptly at midnight. If you aren't down by then, I'll honk my horn until I get arrested, and then you'll have to bail me out of jail. So set your phone alarms, kiddos."

"At midnight," Castiel echoes, still in shock.

"And not a minute later. You can count on me, kids. I met this guy who wears a watch." Gabriel jabs a thumb in Sam's direction. Sam beams.

At that moment, it all finally sinks in. A thrill goes through Castiel, and he grabs Dean's hand. "Seriously?" he says, his face lighting up. "You did this for us? Sam, thank you so much."

"Hey!" Gabriel clicks his tongue. "It was a team effort. Sam had the idea, but I helped, too. You'll see what I mean." He winks.

"Thank you, Gabriel," Castiel says, and means it. He turns to Dean. "Can we? Do you want to?"

Dean turns to him, and the creeping grin that sprawls over his face then means everything to Castiel. It means they can have this. It's not going to get stolen away again. This gift is for real.

* * *

> Some of Castiel's anger blew off in the fall wind as he made his way to Dean's room. But it was still there, low and buzzing inside him, and when he got to Dean's door he slumped against it and tried for a moment to calm himself before knocking.
> 
> Dean saw it on his face and didn't even go in for a kiss hello. "Uh-oh," he said instead, and, when Castiel had set down his bag, "What happened?"
> 
> Castiel let out a heavy sigh and planted himself on the couch. He told the story as best he could, the whole time feeling like it was all a horrible indictment of him as a person. He half-expected Dean to tell him to get the hell out and go apologize. That was how lousy he felt about himself.
> 
> Dean did explode with anger when Castiel was done, but not at him. "What an asswipe!" he exclaimed. "That is some bullshit right there. Good on you for standing up to it."
> 
> "I don't know, Dean, I--" Castiel leaned forward, fidgeting. "He isn't wrong. He never _told_ me to come back, he just always _asked,_ like he expected--"
> 
> "Cas. Dude." Dean slid onto the couch next to him and grabbed one of his hands. "That is classic manipulation. He fucked with you, and now he wants you to think it's your fault."
> 
> "But what if he didn't?" Castiel met Dean's gaze, appreciative but a little afraid of the righteous blaze in his eyes. "What if he was really just trying to be a good friend, and I've just thrown it all back in his face like a..."
> 
> "Like an assbutt?" Dean offered. An attempt to lighten the mood, maybe, but Castiel didn't feel very light at all.
> 
> "Yes. Exactly." Castiel squeezed Dean's hand. There was comfort there, in the gentle strength of his fingers and the warmth of his palm, and Castiel held onto it as tight as he knew how. "What if I've just hurt someone for no reason? What if I was the problem this whole time?"
> 
> Dean lifted his free hand and laid it on Castiel's cheek. Castiel leaned into it. "Cas, honey," he said. "You did the right thing. Sometimes doing the right thing and keeping the peace are two different roads. You went down one for a while, and it made you miserable. At least now things are moving. Maybe shit will get uglier, but maybe it won't. Maybe this was what he needed, too."
> 
> Castiel sighed. "He didn't seem to like it much."
> 
> "Well, yeah, he's gonna get defensive, you've just laid out for him how he's been screwing with you. Whether he meant to or not, he's gotta learn sometime that it's not gonna work on you."
> 
> Shaking his head, Castiel leaned back on the couch and gazed up at the ceiling. "And the worst part of all of this," he said, "is that now I can spend the night with you... but I'm not even close to being in the mood."
> 
> It felt like another confession of untoward behavior, but Dean laughed aloud. "Are you serious? Of everything, Cas, don't worry about _that_. We got time. It'll happen for us. I'm not going anywhere."
> 
> Castiel tilted his head toward Dean. "You promise?"
> 
> Dean leaned in to kiss his shoulder. "If you'll wait for me, I'll wait for you."
> 
> For the first time in a while, Castiel felt like he could breathe. He dropped a kiss on the top of Dean's head, then frowned. "Dean," he said.
> 
> "Hm?"
> 
> "You called me 'honey.'"
> 
> Dean straightened up, flushing, suddenly on the defensive. "...So? So what? What's wrong with that?"
> 
> Castiel leaned against him and smiled for the first time in hours. "Absolutely nothing."

* * *

They stumble into the room hand in hand, press against the back of the door and kiss, then feel their way to the bed, still tangled around each other. Castiel can see enough to notice it's not a big room -- the sort of thing a college kid and a glorified secretary can afford to gift. But seeing is taking a serious back seat to feeling right now, what with Dean in his arms and kissing down the line of his neck, returning for hot kisses on his mouth, Dean's body solid against his own and their legs wrapped around each other in a glorious mess.

It's not until Castiel's head smacks up against it that he even realizes there's something else on the bed.

"Dean." He presses the word against Dean's mouth. "Dean, hold on a second. Look." Dean slides off him, then bursts into laughter when he sees what's just rolled against Castiel's head. Castiel sits up to get his own look, and immediately groans and rolls his eyes.

"They'd have to be fruit-flavored," Dean snorts, picking up the accordion strip of condoms.

"They'd have to be flavored at all," Castiel says. At least the bottle of lube is fairly standard-issue. "We're lucky Gabriel didn't install a mirror on the ceiling."

"This is definitely all Gabriel," Dean says. "Sam doesn't even like to _think_ about me having sex."

"I'm not sure Gabriel ever stops thinking about sex." Stretching, Castiel sets the little bottle down on the nightstand.

"It's good we got stopped," Dean says ruefully. "We've got a whole four hours..."

"... and we should make it last." Castiel is thinking out loud more than anything, but Dean stops and grins at him hugely.

"You read my mind," he says.

So the first thing they do is settle down on the bed and just cuddle. Dean flips on the TV, but they aren't really watching whatever drama's going on onscreen. Instead, they talk about the party, and Castiel tells Dean about the discussion he had with Aaron. Dean listens, offers nods and "Hm"s, but doesn't give an opinion on the matter. And Castiel doesn't ask him for one. Now doesn't seem the time, not when Castiel himself hasn't even slept on the idea. He sets it aside.

Dean runs a hand through his hair. "Dude, you're so grungy."

"I didn't shower this morning," Castiel admits. "The phone woke me up, and then you guys came in with breakfast..."

"What about now?" Dean runs a hand along his side, sneaks it up below Castiel's sweater. Castiel shifts into the touch, a spark catching deep in his groin at the feel of Dean's fingers warm and long against his ribs.

Dean smiles. "I'll take that as a yes, then." He reaches his other hand under Castiel's sweater and pulls it off him. Moaning, Castiel lunges forward to plaster his body against Dean's. They kiss for a long moment, Dean's mouth deliciously wet and giving, and Castiel wants to skip the shower and pull Dean down on top of him right this minute.

But he follows obediently when Dean gets up and holds out a hand to him. When Dean wants to make an encounter last, it's as if he puts Castiel under a spell. He's bewitching, teasing and alluring by turns, and Castiel would follow him anywhere. When Dean whispers "Take my shirt off, Cas," it's as charged as the dirtiest bit of pillow talk.  

Cas obeys, of course, taking time to run his hands over Dean's waist, the hard ridge of his abs and the long stretch of his sides. Dean hums, murmurs something pleased, and Castiel could take forever just easing his shirt off, watching as Dean arches into his touch. With a rush of fabric, he completes the task, throwing Dean's shirt onto the floor, and then they're chest to chest, muscle against hard muscle. When Dean gathers him up into his arms, Castiel feels like he could melt right into Dean's skin and become part of him.

But Dean's so measured, so good at the teasing and the leading, and he takes a step back, then another, Castiel following him the whole time. Their shoes come off as they go, then their socks, and they're bare but for jeans and boxers by the time they step through the bathroom doorway.

It's a small bathroom, nothing special just like the hotel room is nothing special. But there's room for the two of them in the shower stall, which is all that really matters. Castiel picks up the tiny bottles of shampoo and conditioner, and the little paper-wrapped bar of soap. He moves to place them on the edge of the bathtub, but Dean catches him by the waist. He kisses Castiel like fire and sugar, then drops to his knees and starts to undo the buttons at Castiel's fly.

Castiel finds himself holding his breath. There's something about Dean staring up at him, all innocence and patience, that drives him wild. He's hard in his boxers, his cock peeking out from the folds of his fly when Dean drags his jeans down over his thighs. Humming approval, Dean cups his hand around it, a rush of warmth and contact that draws a groan from Castiel.  But as soon as it's there, the touch is gone, as Dean yanks at his jeans until they're a pool of denim at his ankles. Castiel steps out of them, then pulls his own boxers off and down.

"Now you," he says, a growl in his voice, and Dean takes in a little breath before nodding and straightening up. He makes short work of his own pants and boxers, and there's a moment of silent appreciation. There's something so fulfilling about both standing naked in a small space like this. It's not even sexual, though the moment is sexually charged. It's more a feeling of, _this is what nature intended. This is where and with whom I'm meant to be_.

Dean turns and starts the water running. Castiel reaches forward and presses a cupped hand against one cheek of his ass. Dean wiggles into his touch, a tease. Castiel laughs. When the water is warm enough, they step over the rim of the tub and pull the curtain closed. Dean stands underneath the spray, and the water pours in delicious little rivulets down from his hair and along the line of his face. Castiel leans forward to kiss away one stream of water that's pooling at the corner of his mouth, another where his dimple shows when he smiles. Dean sighs and slides his hands around Castiel's waist. He pulls Castiel close, and now they're both getting rained on, hot water sliding into the crevices between their bodies and dampening both their faces. Dean kisses him, and his kiss tastes like hot tea, comforting and invigorating.

To the actual business of showering now, and Dean reaches for the shampoo first and runs his soaped-up hands across Castiel's scalp. Castiel groans as fingernails dig into his skin. It's rare that they get to shower together at school -- Castiel's room has its own bathroom, but they have to find a time when Garth is gone. Dean's row of singles all share a common bathroom with multiple shower stalls. To have all this privacy and all this time is luxury of the highest sort. Castiel closes his eyes and relishes the feel of Dean's hands in his hair, stroking and soothing as the water runs all the shampoo out and down his back. He's so relaxed his knees go weak. It's heaven.

Conditioner, then, and then soap, and God, yes, the feeling of Dean's hands all lathered and rubbing all over him. Dean gets to his knees to soap up Castiel's legs, and Castiel looks down, a hot flash of lust surging through him at the sight of Dean's upturned eyes. Dean leans forward, flashes a grin at Castiel, and then sucks in the head of his cock. Castiel gives a cry and grabs Dean by the hair. But one second is all he gets before Dean slides off him again.

"Tease," Castiel whispers. Dean nods and grins.

They switch positions, and as Castiel runs his soaped-up hands along Dean's skin he marvels at how gentle and intimate it feels. It amazes him every time, that something as simple as a shower, as basic as washing each other feels like they're standing at the dawn of the world. With each stroke of Dean's sides and back, each card of his hand through Dean’s hair feels like the first time they've ever touched. The first time _anyone's_ ever touched. It's so fundamental, so viscerally intimate. Overwhelmed, Castiel pushes forward and presses against Dean, embracing him. The soap slides down both their bodies. Dean kisses him under the rush of water. Happiness, pure and sweet, fills Castiel's whole body. The only word he can think is _yes_.

The words start returning to his vocabulary, starting with the four-letter ones, as they get out of the shower and Dean grabs his hips, then pulls him close. Dean's hard cock grinds against the small of Castiel's back. "You are so fucking hot," Dean murmurs into his ear. "When you were soaping up my cock, I swear to God..."

Castiel moans, remembering the feel of Dean going stiff and hot in his hand. "I thought we were going to take things slow."

"Oh, we are." Dean grins against his neck and thrusts against him in slow-motion. "Nice and slow."

A vision flashes through Castiel's mind: Dean opening him up and having him, right there on the bathroom floor. He goes rock-hard in an instant, and it takes all his control not to just drop to all fours and demand it. When Dean reaches up and brushes one of his nipples with soft fingers, Castiel's moan echoes off the tiles.

Back into the bedroom now, wrapped in towels. Dean's hair is spiky when it's wet, and Castiel enjoys the look of it, like thousands of little soldiers in perfect order. He leans in, nibbles on Dean's ear, and scratches the back of his head like he would a puppy. Dean groans. "S'nice, Cas," he murmurs.

"On the bed," Castiel responds, suddenly inspired. Dean sits, and Castiel climbs behind him. He places his hands on Dean's shoulders and starts to knead. Dean's groan is a different animal from the one he gave a moment ago. That one was gentle; this one's got ragged edges. He slumps forward, letting Castiel have free rein on his back, occasionally moaning a "yeah" or "that's good" as Castiel works his muscles. When Castiel hits a certain spot on his shoulder blades, Dean erupts with "Hot damn, the things I am going to do to you tonight!" Castiel laughs and shudders at the same time.

It's maybe five minutes before Dean rears up and turns, grabbing Castiel by the waist. "OK, enough of this," he growls, "I need to kiss the hell out of you right now."

Castiel can't wipe the grin off his face even when Dean's mouth assaults his own. He smiles into the first few kisses, but Dean's mouth is hot and insistent, and Castiel melts, especially when Dean presses him gently into the bed and climbs on top of him. There is nothing in the world like the feeling of Dean on top of him, warm weight and muscle. Castiel opens his mouth to Dean's kisses, accepts the sliding sweetness of Dean's tongue on his, groans deliriously into it. He could drown in Dean like this, inhaling his scent until he can no longer breathe, and he'd die so happy.

He runs his hands down Dean's back, inching them beneath the scratchy barrier of the towel, pulling it off with a satisfied grunt. Dean parts Castiel's towel in response. Lean and naked, they press against each other. Sparks fly behind Castiel's eyelids at the feel of their cocks bumping together, then dragging against each other's skin, Dean's dick hot on his stomach and his own aching against Dean's hip. Towels get thrown to the floor. Dean runs his hands down Castiel's sides, gripping his hips. His kiss never wavers.

Castiel can't touch Dean enough. He's got to have a palmful of Dean's ass, got to feel the strong muscles of Dean's back working above him. Moment after moment, kiss after heavy hungry kiss, he grabs at Dean and _feels_ as hard as he can, mapping every line of Dean's body beneath his greedy fingers. In response, Dean arches into his touch and groans against his mouth. The sound and the sensation sink into Castiel's skin. He vibrates with it all.

Dean slides down, lips nibbling from mouth to chin to neck, and he parts Castiel's thighs and eases between them. Castiel gasps, wrapping his legs around Dean's waist. His cock drags hard against Dean's stomach now, friction that's at once too much and not nearly enough. "Dean," a moan that turns into a gasp as Dean keeps working his way downward, wet mouth and hard teeth scraping against one nipple until electricity shoots down Castiel's spine. Then Dean's licking long stripes across his stomach, nipping at his hips, and then, oh God, a soft sucking kiss on the inside of his thigh...

No tease this time when Dean takes Castiel into his mouth, just sudden wet pressure that makes Castiel cry out and arch up off the bed. Dean's mouth fits on him warm and soft as a glove, his tongue a taunting touch of silk and fire as it flickers from head to vein to root. It never ceases to amaze Castiel how _enthusiastic_ Dean is when he's sucking Castiel's cock -- how he moans into it like he's the one being swallowed down, how his cheeks hollow out and his lips stretch, how his hands drag against Castiel's thighs and cup his ass to bring him even closer. Castiel loves the feeling of Dean's cock on his tongue, too, but it's not like this. Not like he honestly can't get enough of him.

"God," he whispers, running a hand through Dean's hair. "God, Dean, feels so good." Sensation swells inside him, and he throws his head back, groaning a soft "nngh" up toward the ceiling. If only Dean didn't suck so hard and so good -- if only his tongue didn't do that _thing_ \- but it does, he does, and Castiel's breathing is coming in short rasps as he holds onto the side of the bed for dear life. "Dean," he calls out, his voice rough and hoarse. "Oh, God, Dean, if you don't stop I--" Abruptly there are fingers at the cleft of his ass, darting inward, and Castiel's whole spine lights up with heat and want. "Dean, oh, fuck!"

Relief, sweet and cool, as Dean eases off him with a final kiss to the tip of his cock. His fingers stay put, though, easing and inching into Castiel, and the shocks flying up through Castiel's body never ease. Shuddering, he pulls Dean up, kisses his mouth when it's close enough. He wants to find the words for what he's feeling right now, with Dean teasing him and kissing him like this, but they don't come.

That's okay; Dean's got them. "I want you, Cas," he murmurs, words bright and hot against Castiel's mouth.

"Yes," Castiel hisses in return. It's all he can say. And all he has to say.

Dean reaches for the supplies they've been left, climbing up Castiel's body to get to them. He slips the condom on while straddling Castiel's shoulders, and Castiel can't resist craining his neck upward to have a little taste of the flavor. It's a bright, sharp lime flavor, not bad, but not the usual warm, heady taste of Dean. So he takes a few tentative sucks, listens to the sound of Dean's moans echoing over his head, and lets go.

Dean whines. "Why'd you stop?"

"I want you inside me," Castel answers with a grin. It seems to placate Dean, who slides back down Castiel’s body and stops to lick into his mouth before going any further. He hums an "Mm," probably getting a taste of the condom's flavoring from Castiel's mouth. The sound rumbles against Castiel's lips, sending them buzzing.

Dean’s such an expert at opening Castiel up. Castiel may never get over that initial thrill of nerves and excitement when Dean first pushes into him, or the strange, warm feeling of being opened. He moans, hand flying down to stroke his own cock, and his head rolls back and forth on the pillow. "Yes, Dean," he murmurs, delirious. "Yes." By the time Dean pulls out of him and wipes his fingers on the side of the bed, Castiel's open and half out of his mind with want. His insides are sparking with electric energy.

Dean holds fast to his hips and pushes in. At the completion of the stroke, they both sigh.

"God, you’re perfect," Dean murmurs, leaning down over him to kiss him..

"Dean." _So full_ , Castiel thinks, _full of you_. He nips and sucks at Dean’s lips. The moment can't get any more perfect.

Oh, but yes it can.

When Dean starts to rock into him, hips a gentle, cresting rhythm like ocean waves, giddy bliss spills through Castiel's body. He moans, wrapping his arms around Dean's shoulders, holding Dean tight to his body. Again and again they come together, Dean pushing in to bottom out inside him, their chests bumping, Castiel's cock dragging against Dean’s stomach. Dean kisses down Castiel's neck, bites at his shoulder. He breathes thinly, sweat starting to glisten on his body. Castiel looks up at him through bleary eyes, watching his chest and shoulders rise and fall, and thinks only about how lucky he is that they’re here and how good it feels.

He eases one hand down from Dean's shoulders and wedges it in between their bodies, able to catch his cock at the tips of his fingers. He angles it up to press harder against Dean's stomach and groans at the delicious drag of it on warm, hard skin. Warmth is building in the base of his cock and in his hips, and when Dean sucks on a pulse point he throws his head back and cries out.

"Fuck," Dean breathes, "said I was gonna take my time." A laugh, soft and breathy, sounds in Castiel's ear.

"Don't slow down," Castiel pleads, "not now."

Dean hums assent. He pushes down, the hot piston of his cock inside Castiel like a drill, opening Castiel up and filling him in ways Castiel didn't think was possible. The bed creaks, and they're moving in sharper, quicker movements now, each stroke nearly a slam. Dean's moans become savage grunts. Castiel's become cries.

"Oh, God, Cas, I can't," Dean gasps. His thrusts speed up, his rhythm going erratic and desperate.

Castiel rakes stiff fingers down his back. "Dean, _please_."

Dean cries out and lurches forward, thrusting hard as his muscles lock up beneath Castiel's thighs and hand. The groan he gives as climax surges through him is low and drawn-out.  It sends prickles of electric heat skittering across Castiel's skin, and he works his cock hard, pressing the tip against Dean's skin and stroking his shaft until he's breaking apart, giving a throaty cry. His orgasm spills out of him in waves of flooding heat.

They look at each other, smile, kiss.

"You are always so amazing," Dean says, easing out of him and groaning as he tips back onto his knees. "I mean, _damn._ "

"We needed this," says Castiel with a laugh.

"Yeah," Dean answers, grinning, "we really did."

After they clean off, they cuddle together on the bed, nude. Dean pulls the covers over them. Do they doze a little bit? Castiel thinks so, perhaps. Mostly he's aware of just being warm and happy, with Dean's skin touching his and the soft breath of the room's air conditioning moving over their bodies. He could stay like this forever, completely comfortable, utterly content and in love.

The beeping of Castiel's phone at 11:45 is a rude awakening. The two of them dress, yawn, and make their way downstairs to where Gabriel is waiting for them in the car. They tumble into the back seat, sleepy, holding hands.

"We never lit candles tonight," Dean muses as the three of them speed away toward home.

"I guess not," Castiel says. "But I don't think you can argue we didn't get a present."

Gabriel glances at the two of them in the rear view mirror, but says nothing. Castiel dozes off again on the way home. He doesn't even remember arriving or finding his way upstairs. The next thing he knows, he's in bed, and sleep comes quickly. He gives into it, certain he'll have sweet dreams.


	7. A Jewish Christmas Eve

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many thanks as always to Crowgirl42 and feministlib for a thoughtful beta. They have been instrumental in steering this story in the direction it needed to go and holding my feet to the fire in terms of taking responsibility for my characters and their choices. I cannot give them enough love.
> 
> And, as always, many thanks to dazedrose for the beautiful art that headlines these chapters.

**Chapter 6: A Jewish Christmas Eve**

Castiel wakes up Thursday morning in a good mood. He only has to close his eyes to remember everything wonderful that happened yesterday, from donuts in the morning until love late at night, and he feels as though, maybe, they're going to get through this week and have it be a net positive. He thinks back to his prayers last _Shabbos_ — that this week wouldn’t be a disaster. Maybe they got through.

He's surprised, then, to find Dean hunched over a cup of coffee, looking like he's been run over by a Mack truck. "What happened?" he says as he slides into the chair besides Dean. "Bad dream?"

"It's the 24th," Dean grumbles.

"And?"

Dean glares at him. "I don't like the 24th," he says.

Castiel lets a few moments of silence go by. Any minute, now, he expects Dean will finally clue him in.

But nothing. Just a few more slurps of coffee through pouty, pursed lips.

Castiel clears his throat. "And the reason would be--"

"I just don't like it." Dean doesn't exactly snap the words, but it's far from a neutral tone.

It only takes one look at Dean's face for Castiel to realize that now is not the time to probe this further. He lets the poor man sip his coffee in peace.

Dean's demeanor turns out to not be the only surprise this morning. A few minutes later, as Castiel is sipping his own cup of coffee, Abe walks through the door. He's casual in jeans and a button-down shirt, a bit of a sparkle in his eye. Castiel stares at him, aware his mouth is wide open but unable to close it.

"Surprised to see me, then?" Abe says with a guttural chuckle. "I guess I forgot to tell you I took today off. Thought it would be nice to spend some quality time with my sons. Got some projects out in the garage I could use some help on."

A cold sweat breaks out on the back of Castiel's neck. He has no idea what this "quality time" is going to entail. And he immediately worries if this is some plot to exclude Dean. What will he do, if Dad's next words are, "Sorry, Dean, this is family time"?

But then Abe smiles. "Of course, if you don't mind doing a little work, Dean, that means you as well."

Dean brightens, offering Abe the best smile he can muster. Castiel can see the difference between this smile and one of Dean's more genuine grins, but he was certain Abe can't, not yet. "Whatever you need me to do," he says.

Which is how they end up in the freezing garage, assembling shelves and the like on a sunny Thursday morning. The light filters in through the row of windows on the garage door, but the cold seeps through too, and the little space heater on the side of the room doesn't provide a whole lot of help. Castiel actually goes back in to grab his jacket.  

"That thing can't possibly keep you warm," Abe says, nonplussed, upon seeing it.

"It's better than nothing," Castiel says, but Dad's right -- the trenchcoat isn't much of a help. He tries to suppress his shivers and works on.

Gabriel, whose job it is to screw things in, leading to a number of whispered innuendos Dad can't hear, tries to start a conversation. "So Dean," he says. "I never heard how you and Cassie met in the first place."

"It's _Cas_ ," Castiel growls, but neither Dean nor Gabriel bats an eye.

"Class," Dean says. "Comparative Religion 101. I saw the yarmulke and asked a million questions."

"Dean had never met a Jewish person before," Castiel adds. "He was very curious."

"He came to the right guy," Gabriel says. "Castiel always had all the answers. Ever since he was a little kid, he was spewing trivia everywhere. Did you know this, did you know that. I remember you found out something about cats that made Mom spit out her tea once."

Castiel flushes. He remembers the response to that particular factoid. Of course, he didn't realize at age 8 that penises were things not to be discussed in mixed company.

"Yeah," Dean says, "I've learned a lot about Judaism."

"And how do you like it?"

The words come from Abe. Gabriel and Castiel both turn, startled.

"I'm curious," Abe says by way of explanation, but there's something severe in his face that worries Castiel. "We’ve all grown up with it, of course. I’m trying to imagine what it’s like to see it from the outside. What are your impressions, Dean?"

Dean looks down at his hands, then tosses a desperate look at Castiel. He doesn't like being put on the spot. "I, uh... I like it," he says. "It's different, that's for sure. Lots of... rituals, and rules, I guess. Seems like it would be hard to pull off. But I guess if you do it your whole life..."

He trails off and gives Castiel another pleading look. Castiel doesn't know what to do, how to rescue Dean from the line of questioning. He shrugs, throwing up his hands.

Abe gives a little throaty noise. "Of course," he says, "Judaism isn't just a religion, Dean. It's also a race.”

Dean gets a baffled look on his face. He mouths the word at Castiel -- _race?_ Castiel nods, trying to process the reason for Dean’s confusion. The idea of Judaism as a race is second nature to him. It doesn’t seem odd at all, but from the look on Dean’s face, his father might have just claimed Judaism was also an alien life form.

Whatever is going on, he wants to derail it. “Dad,” he starts, “that’s not really what most people--”

“No, I want to know,” Dean says. He’s sitting forward, looking intently at Abe, and Castiel sees his hand splayed out against his thigh. “It’s a race? Like being black, or Asian? I never thought about it that way. What does it mean?”

Abe shifts in his seat, a brief sign of discomfort, but then he meets Dean’s gaze head-on. “It means just this: Religion is something you believe. Race is something you _are_. Everything we do, Dean, is part of who we are. All those rituals and rules you mentioned? We don’t do them for their own sake. They’re part of our legacy. We pass that legacy on to our children, just as it was passed on to us. And to our parents. And on and on, for thousands of years. Castiel will pass on those traditions, too, when it’s time. It’s what makes him who he is.”

The words are pressed firmly into the air, deliberately - statements designed to make an impression. Castiel wants to cringe. Dad's making a point, though exactly what point Castiel's not clear on. His parents come from a very different place than he does regarding the faith and what it means. They both care about it and believe in it, but he gets the feeling sometimes his parents feel the need to hold it up as a sword and shield, as though they’re fighting an invisible enemy that would destroy them if they dare flinch for a moment. Castiel’s never quite sure what that enemy is.

Then again, Castiel has never done a very good job at guessing people's motivations.

* * *

> He was dreading going back to his dorm. In the wake of the disastrous fight with Garth, Castiel wished that Saturday night would stretch on forever and that Sunday morning would never come. But eventually he had to open his eyes, and he and Dean had to tumble out of that very narrow bed and go down to breakfast. And after that, a kiss goodbye, and after that...
> 
> And after that, Castiel walked into his dorm room to find a naked girl.
> 
> Garth's bed was far from empty. Next to his shaggy head was another one, blonde, and pink-peach in her neck and shoulders. One bare arm draped lazily over the comforter they were both snuggled beneath. Castiel stood and gaped. Apparently Garth hadn't had a miserable night alone after all.
> 
> As he watched, trying to wrap his brain around the scene, Garth blinked and turned over, then dragged himself up to sit. He was at _least_ naked from the waist up, and it was lucky he didn't reveal more before he caught sight of Castiel. "Oh," he said simply, and "Good morning."
> 
> "G-- g--" Castiel's gears were grinding, but not moving much.
> 
> "It's the funniest thing," Garth said with a wide grin. "After you left last night, I thought I'd go by and see what the Latin club was doing. And that's where I met Kate." He petted the blonde's hair, like she was a stray cat he'd taken in. She moaned and yawned, arms stretching above her head. The comforter shifted as she stretched, revealing more of her than Castiel was sure she intended to show to a stranger. He turned away.
> 
> "Kate, honey, you awake? This is my roommate."
> 
> She spoke in a sleepy voice. "Hm? Oh, this is the guy who--"
> 
> "Yeah. Here, baby, put on my shirt."
> 
> A rustle of fabric, and Castiel dared to look around again. Kate was young-looking, with a sunny smile, and she waved a hello, seemingly as unfazed at being caught in Garth's bed as Garth was at having her there.
> 
> "So, you see, it all worked out for the best!" Garth said. "Sometimes you just have to trust in heaven above." He nodded self-importantly.
> 
> Castiel hadn't had much prepared to say in the first place, and faced with this situation, he was utterly at a loss. He swung his bag down onto his bed and settled for a "Nice to meet you" tossed somewhere in Kate's general direction. Then he buried his face in email until the two had gotten up and dressed and headed down to breakfast.
> 
> It didn't seem fair somehow. All of this torment, and Garth was the one who'd ended up getting lucky. He knew by the afternoon he'd be laughing about it, but right now, Castiel was feeling like the butt of a great cosmic joke.

* * *

There's a long silence after Abe speaks. He's gazing in Dean's direction, unwavering, and Castiel realizes with horror he's expecting an answer from Dean. Some sort of lip service, some recognition of the validity of the concept. And Dean's supposed to sense that, read the situation and respond accordingly. Dean's expected to say, "I know and I accept that."

The problem is, Dean doesn't have a clue about that expectation. How could he? He hasn't been victim of Abe's silent question-and-answer game all his life, the way Castiel and Gabriel have. To him, all those words about traditions and legacies are just interesting words. Dean's failing this test with every second that trickles by, because he doesn't know he's being tested.

Castiel fumbles for words to say, something that might make it right. But Gabriel's faster, and he jumps in, just in the nick of time. "But as traditions go, Hanukkah's kind of crap," he says. "We light some candles, we eat some latkes, we play a little dreidel and that's the end of it. If we had, like, Hawaiian night and Italian night, or something, that'd be cool. Cas, remind me to do that if I ever become a father."

" _There's_ a scary thought," Castiel shoots back, but he's barely concealing his grin. Sometimes his brother is a pain in the ass, but when it comes down to it, he can be a genuine lifesaver.

Dean, meanwhile, has put down his screwdriver and is staring at Gabriel with shining eyes. "Wait, what was that other thing?" he said. "Candles, food, and what? A dray-dray?"

Gabriel takes in an exaggerated gasp. "Castiel, do you mean to tell me you haven't taught this poor boy about dreidel? I'm shocked. You've failed in your duty." He rises. "All right, _up,_ all of you. We're taking a break. Don't fight me on this, Dad, this is important Jewish cultural education. Come on, back into the house, all of youse!"

Disarmed, Abe waves them past. Castiel and Dean follow Gabriel through the garage door, down the hallway and into the living room. "Dreidel," he lectures as he goes, "is Jewish craps. You roll, you win or lose. Go find yourself some money to bet with... unless," he adds, turning and winking, "you want to play strip dreidel."

"Gabriel! How would that even work--" But Gabriel's already busy scraping through drawers looking for a dreidel to play with. Castiel scrounges up some change from one of his jacket pockets and settles down onto the rug. Dean has to run into the other room, but he returns with bills and coins in hand. By then Gabriel has found it -- a plastic four-sided top, colored dull red. Each side is adorned with a Hebrew letter. The thing must be fifteen years old, a leftover from Hebrew school days.

"Now," Gabriel says, "observe, if you will, the dreidel. A fine piece of craftsmanship. Note carefully the four sides, the pointed end. Also the bite marks. Castiel, that has to have been you."

Castiel frowns. Dean sniggers. He's commented on Castiel biting his pencils in class.

Gabriel goes through the four sides and what they mean, then grabs a big book off the coffee table and places it on the rug as a spinning surface. He passes the top to Dean so he can practice. It takes him a few tries, but he manages to get a good spin on the dreidel, and watches happily as it whirls and then drops.

"Oh, _gimel_!"  Gabriel nudges him with an elbow. "If we'd started playing already, you'd be a big winner."

"I thought it was the other one," Dean says. "The noon."

" _Nun_ ," Castiel corrects. "You can tell the difference because _gimel_ has a little tail."

"And the _nun_ has none," Dean chimes in, pleased with himself for the pun.

"He figures it out!" Gabriel applauds. "Now come on, let's divvy up the profits and get this game started."

They pool their resources and come up with a grand total of $4.33, plus several chocolate coins Gabriel has left over from the party last night. They put a buck in the center and divide out the rest, and Castiel declares Dean should go first. He spins and gets a _shin_ , meaning he has to put one of his coins into the pot.

"So Dean," Gabriel says, "you've seen a hell of a lot about Castiel's life this week. What about you? Where do you come from?" He rolls and turns up a _nun_ , meaning he does nothing.

"Nowhere special," Dean says. "Hell, Kansas is pretty much the opposite of special. At least the part I come from."

"Is it all in black and white, like in the Wizard of Oz?"

Dean snorts. "Might as well be. Lawrence is a cool enough town, but we're like forty minutes out from it, just over the line into redneck territory. Lots of motorcycles, lots of churches. On the plus side, cheap bars where they don't card you. On the minus side, they don't card you because they know you -- _and_ your parents."

Castiel takes his turn - another _nun_ \- and they all place one more coin into the pot before the next round.

Gabriel nods. "And are you a church-going sort of fellow, back at home?"

"Not hardly. Don't believe in anything supernatural, to tell you the truth." Dean rolls, and gets the first decent action of the game - a _hey_. He gets to take half of the pot.

"But here you are trying to sing along at Hanukkah." Gabriel rolls a _shin_ and murmurs, sing-song, " _Shin, shin_ , put one in."

Dean shrugs. "It's interesting stuff. It's just a lot different from how I grew up. You don't even sing in English. It's weird, but in a cool way."

Castiel rolls another _nun_ , because that's just his fate at this game. He's been rolling _nun_ s since first grade. "To us, church is equally strange. I went to a wedding mass when I was in high school and spent the whole time looking through the hymnal. All these songs I'd never heard before."

"I don't even know most of 'em," Dean says. They add to the pot again, and he rolls. "We went to church once in a while when Sammy and I were really little, but once we started doing sports and stuff, Mom and Dad just sort of forgot about it. Christmas and Easter, and that was it."

"You'll be going to services this Christmas," Castiel points out.

"But not a Christmas service," Dean says, rolling a _shin_. "And that's important."

"You keep doing that," Castiel says. "You really have something against Christmas, don't you?"

This draws a glare from Dean. Castiel claps a hand over his mouth. But luckily, Gabriel has just rolled a _gimel_ and is too busy cackling and grabbing the entire pot to have noticed.

Castiel mouths an _I'm-sorry_ in Dean's direction. Dean's face softens, and he leans in and darts a furtive kiss against Castiel's ear. "Later," he whispers.

* * *

> Castiel had never seen Dean laugh so hard.
> 
> "No, really?" he asked for the fifth time when the story was all all over. "He just went out and got laid, after all that? That little dweeb?"
> 
> "That's a hurtful word." It irritated Castiel that Dean should be this amused. It felt almost as if Dean was cheering Garth on, after all that trash talk about him in the previous week that had spurred Castiel to confront him in the first place.
> 
> Dean wiped the corner of his eye. "Sorry, man, sorry. It's just -- that's un-frigging-believable."
> 
> "Hmm." Castiel shifted, trying not to feel pissy about the situation and failing.
> 
> "But hey, all's well that ends well, right?" Dean slung an arm around his shoulder. Castiel burrowed into the touch, still ornery but grateful for the physical reassurance. "I mean, now he gets his, and you're free to, you know." Dean kissed at Castiel's ear, lips brushing his hairline.
> 
> "I still feel as though I came out of this looking awful," Castiel says. "It doesn't negate the tension between Garth and me. For all I know, he still thinks I'm some kind of temperamental... drama queen." He shudders at the word, and all its implications.
> 
> "So what?" Dean's fingers played at Castiel's jaw. "You only have to sleep in the same room, not be best friends. If he has the wrong idea about you, so long as he doesn't pick a fight, what does it matter?"
> 
> "Says the guy living in a single. You'd understand if you were in my situation."
> 
> Dean sighed. "Maybe I would. I dunno, Cas--" and he gave Castiel's shoulders a soft squeeze-- "it just seems to me like we ought to take our happy endings where we can get them, you know? We've got enough problems just being who we are. I want things to be okay for you. You worry so much, and I want to see you smile."
> 
> Castiel turned to him. "You make me smile," he said in a low voice, feeling the corners of his lips turning up even at the thought.
> 
> "Yeah?" Dean leaned in and kissed him, soft and brief. "That's good. But I wanna see you make some other faces, too." Dean dropped his hand abruptly from Castiel's face to his waist, fingers worming under the hem of his shirt. Castiel jumped and batted at the wandering hand with his own, but only half-heartedly. It only ever took a little sign of interest from Dean to set his body humming and his heart fluttering.
> 
> "Dean," he started, weakly. His voice broke halfway through.
> 
> "God, I love it when you sound like that," Dean murmured, and sealed his mouth over Castiel's. Castiel surged up into the kiss, a pure flame of lust overtaking him. He grabbed Dean's hair, pulled him in.
> 
> Dean abandoned the teasing touches and gripped hard at Castiel's ribcage. Castiel could feel himself being pulled down, like a hapless swimmer in an undertow, and he didn't care. He threw his arms around Dean's neck and surrendered to it, groaning.
> 
> The loveseat's frame creaked with the weight of them both, and laughing, tripping over each other's feet, they waltzed across the room to the bed. Dean's weight fell over Castiel like the warmest comforter, warmer still when he stripped off his shirt, and Castiel ran his hands along the planes of Dean's body, tugging him closer with every stroke.
> 
> He couldn't stop breathing in the heady scent of Dean's skin, kissing at his neck, then cheek, then hungry mouth as it came to meet his. Dean's hands were at his hips now, trying to inch down his jeans. "Cas," came a rumbling, heated voice. "Cas, tell me. Is now the right time?"
> 
> Castiel closed his eyes, trying to feel the answer to the question deep in his body. What he felt was heat so strong it threatened to black him out, and at the core of him, a yawning emptiness. He craved Dean so badly it hurt.
> 
> But was now the right time?
> 
> Was there some kind of bell that was supposed to toll inside him, some firework that was supposed to bloom across the sky declaring the perfect moment? A few minutes ago Dean had been laughing, and Castiel had been grumpy about it. Was that an inauspicious start? Should Castiel hold out for flowers and dinner, a carefully crafted date and a long talk about their future before giving over this part of himself?
> 
> He almost laughed aloud at the thought. How far that was from the reality of the two of them. He and Dean had been imperfect from the start, were imperfect even now. Their dates were last-minute runs to a movie, or an inelegant supper at a dorm dining hall or cheap fast food. Or, more often, crashing on the loveseat and watching a pirated movie on Dean's laptop. They knew any thought of a future together would be fraught with hard questions, so they studiously avoided the subject. But oh, how they loved the now. And all their little _now_ s were so perfect in their quiet, foolish way.
> 
> "Cas?" Dean eased off of him and leaned back, settling on his knees. He brushed a palm over the front of his pants, adjusting. "It's... it's cool. Didn't mean to rush you."
> 
> Sitting up, Castiel tried to bite back his smile. "Dean," he said. "There's something you need to know."
> 
> Dean swallowed. "O... okay." He reached for his shirt.
> 
> Castiel reached out and slipped his fingers around Dean's wrist, stopping his hand from going any further. He brought that hand to his mouth and pressed his lips against the knuckles.
> 
> "I love you," he said.

* * *

Gabriel wins, but he doles out the remaining chocolate coins evenly nonetheless, then heads back into the garage to offer a handful to Abe. Castiel promises they'll be along shortly, but he and Dean linger back, sitting on the couch in the living room.

Dean hasn't been right since that moment, earlier in the game.  He shifted nervously in his seat and avoided Castiel's eyes, all while dialing his enthusiasm up to 11 in an attempt to cover his discomfort. Now he sits, leaning forward, his hands interlaced between his knees. He alternates between looking down at them and looking off into the distance, seeing something Castiel can't see. He doesn't speak.

Castiel's been on edge ever since he came downstairs to find Dean grumpy as hell this morning, and this isn't helping. Neither did Dad's sudden burst of eloquence earlier. Fidgeting, he looks at Dean, silently pleading with him to speak. He could try to drag it out of Dean, but that would only make things worse. Dean's got to want to share with him, and Dean's just not usually the sharing sort. It's a hell of a position for Castiel to be in. He doesn't know what exactly to do.

When he finally does speak, it’s so sudden that Castiel nearly jumps out of his skin.

“Here’s the thing,” he says. “Yesterday was awesome. We had a good time, saw some friends. We were ourselves. I got to be me.

“And now, I feel like I’m back to pretending, you know? Now I gotta watch what I say again, I gotta go along to get along. Which is cool, I mean, that’s what I agreed to, but it…” He raises pleading eyes at Castiel. “It sucks, Cas. It sucks twice as much after getting to be free for a whole day. And I guess the whole thing’s just getting old. Maybe I shouldn’t have asked to come for the whole week. I just wanted…”

He trails off, shakes his head and gives a soft sigh. Castiel can’t stand the sight of him like this. It’s not what he wanted for Dean this week. Not at all.

“I’m sorry,” he says. “I didn’t think… and I should have. I shouldn’t have asked you to do this.”

“You didn’t, remember? I’m the one who said it’d be no big deal.” Dean half-smiles. “I thought of it as a challenge. Keep your relationship top secret for eight whole days, like a spy on a mission. It’s turning out more like that old ghost story about the family who’ll get a million dollars if they stay all night in a haunted house. They think it’ll be no big deal, and then the ghosts start showing up.”

“Only in this case, the ghosts are my relatives,” Castiel says, because he’s not sure what else to say.

“I’m gonna tell you what pisses me off, though,” Dean says. “It’s the whole Lisa thing. It was weird, seeing her at the party, not sure if I should say anything. I wish we hadn’t done that.”

That’s what Dean says, but he means _I wish_ ** _you_** _hadn’t done that,_ and Castiel hears it clear as a bell. He deserves it, he knows. And probably worse. “I’m sorry,” he says again. “You’re right to be upset, Dean. It was a terrible thing to do to you.”

Dean gazes at him. “I get why you did it, I do. I just… now we’re stuck with it, and I--”

“Maybe we don’t have to be.”

The words come out of Castiel in a rush. He blinks, stunned at himself for having said them. But the idea is there, spinning like a star in his chest, and suddenly he has to get it out. “What if we tell them?” he says. “What if we just tell the truth?”

Dean blinks. "You think we should?"

"Maybe...  yes." It all seems so clear in this moment. "They'll understand. I know they will. And even if they don't -- we're adults now. We make our own choices. They have to accept that."

"I don't know," Dean says. "We've been here a week without telling them. Don't you think it's kind of too late?"

"We have to tell them sometime," Castiel says. He doesn't know where this surge of bravery has come from, but it feels like a high. He wants to keep riding it. "Wouldn't sooner be better than later? Shouldn't we just ... tell the truth?"

Dean gazes at him for a few seconds. "You sound like you really want to."

"It's the right thing to do," Castiel says. But Dean's expression stills him. "Isn't it?"

Dean gives a sigh. "Cas..."

"Everything all right in here?"

They both look up, startled. Abe is standing at the entrance to the hallway, looking at the two of them with a slight frown.

Castiel snatches his hand away from Dean's, a reflex. "Dad," he stammers. "We-- Dean was just telling me something--"

"Something personal," Dean says quickly. "Sorry, I kept you guys waiting."

"I hope everything's all right." Is it concern in Abe's voice or suspicion? Whatever it is, it frightens the resolve right out of Castiel. He can’t find words.

"It's Lisa," Dean says. Castiel turns to goggle at him. Hadn’t they just agreed not to lie anymore? But Dean is staring straight at Abe, his face resolute. "Something happened last night at the party. We were just talking about it."

The worry line in Abe's forehead deepens. "Oh," he says. "I'm sorry." Another beat and he says, "I thought Lisa was in Costa Rica for the holidays."

Castiel tries to reclaim his courage. “Dad, Lisa is....”

"She _is_ in Costa Rica,” Dean says. “This was over the phone." Dean glances at Castiel, his face stony. _Shh_ , that gaze says. _Let me handle this._

Dean turns back toward Abe. "It's complicated," he says. "Lisa called me during the party, but I had put my phone down, so another girl picked it up. It was awkward."

"I see," Abe says. "Well, I hope, uh, it all works out."

"Thanks, Mr. Novak," Dean says, giving his trademark innocent grin. "You know how it is, girls are hard to handle."

"Hmm. Well, we could use your help in the garage when you're ready." Abe's gaze falls to Castiel, and it's not a forgiving glance. "I assume you won't be much longer."

"We're ready to go now," Dean says, rising from the couch. "Right, Cas? We pretty much covered it."

Castiel follows his lead. "Sure. Let's get back to work."

Abe turns and heads back toward the garage, the two of them in tow. Castiel leans over and whispers to Dean, "You didn’t have to do that."

“I panicked,” Dean says with a guilty grin. “Besides. We’re not sure yet, are we? About telling the truth. And we don’t want to just blurt everything out. Let’s talk about it later.”

“Not too much later.”

Dean nods. “Afraid I’m gonna forget?”

Castiel manages a smile. “Not this time.”

* * *

> Dean blinked. He said nothing.
> 
> Anxiety prickled the back of Castiel's neck. "Dean?"
> 
> He watched Dean's chest rise and fall a few times, deliberate breaths.
> 
> This was taking too long. "Dean, say something."
> 
> Dean's brow furrowed. "I'm waiting for the 'but,'" he said.
> 
> Now it was Castiel's turn to blink. "What?"
> 
> "You love me, but... something. Right?" Dean looked more confused by the second. "There was a second half to that. Something I needed to know, you said. What is it? I can take it, Cas. Just spit it out."
> 
> A laugh bubbled up through Castiel's throat. He lifted his free hand to his mouth to keep it from bursting out loud enough to rattle the windows.
> 
> "Cas?" Dean was starting to look desperate. "Throw me a bone, dude."
> 
> "I'm sorry," Castiel said, his voice muffled behind his hand. "I'm sorry, Dean, I just..." He lowered his hand and tried not to grin. "That's it. That's what I wanted to tell you."
> 
> All the desperation slid from Dean's face in an instant. Blank, he shook his head and echoed back, "You just wanted to tell me you love me?"
> 
> "Yes." Castiel lifted his eyebrows. "Some people consider it an important thing to say."
> 
> "I-- yeah, I know, I just-- I thought we already-- you never told me that before?"
> 
> "No."
> 
> Dean lifted a finger and dragged it through the air, as though trying to follow some invisible line of logic across his field of vision. "So this was the first time you've ever told me that."
> 
> "Yes." At this point Castiel wasn't sure whether to be upset or amused. He was leaning toward the latter.
> 
> "Which means..." The finger in the air jabbed. "I never told you either?"
> 
> "No, Dean. You haven't."
> 
> "Huh." Dean dropped his hand and stared at Castiel as though he'd suddenly sprouted a second head. "I guess... I always figured it went without saying."
> 
> Yes, this was definitely a moment to put in the _amused_ column, Castiel thought. He grinned. "It doesn't, necessarily."
> 
> Dean's face fell. "Then I've been a total dick to you, haven't I?"
> 
> Castiel out-and-out laughed. "If you have, so have I. I just said it now. But I've known it for months."
> 
> "Yeah, me too." At this, Dean finally smiled. Castiel reached out and pulled him in close. Dean was still shirtless, and his skin was still radiating amazing warmth that Castiel needed to feel again. "Cas, I'm no freaking good at big emotional moments, you know that. But yeah, I..." His voice dropped to nearly a whisper. "I do. I…I love you, too--"
> 
> Castiel kissed the words off his lips. "Is that a fact?"
> 
> Dean flushed. "You know it is. Don't make me say it again."
> 
> "I wanted to be certain," Castiel said. "Because as long as it's true, Dean... then yes. This is the right time."
> 
> And it was.

* * *

Not too much later, Castiel said, but the time fritters away both working in the garage and later at a truly ridiculous shopping trip to Home Depot that results in Castiel and Dean hauling even more lumber into said freezing garage. It’s apparently for a garden project, some sort of cage for the backyard vegetable plots. Why it has to be done in December is beyond Castiel’s comprehension.

They light the candles before dinner - six now, in addition to the Shamash. Tonight, Abe and Evelyn announce, is charity night: In lieu of presents, they'll make a $50 donation to any charity the "kids" choose. "We started it to teach our children to think of others' needs," Evelyn tells Dean pointedly. "That Hanukkah wasn't just about getting presents. Now it's a tradition."

Gabriel picks an animal rescue organization in Los Angeles. Dean goes for a local soup kitchen. Castiel is tempted to pick some sort of interfaith association, but he opts for an LGBT organization instead. Satisfied, the parents note it all down and promise to write checks.

Dinner is a standard Jewish Christmas Eve -- that is to say, Chinese food. As they pull the vegetarian lo mein out of the plastic packaging and divide it up onto plates, Evelyn gives them the rundown of the following day. "We'll be going to the store early to get everything we need for Shabbos," she says, "and then your aunts and uncles will be coming over. I expect you to be on your best behavior," she adds, with a glance at Gabriel.

"There was an incident with Gabriel and Uncle Zachariah," Castiel murmurs to Dean. "And a frog. It didn't go well."

After dinner, Castiel walks Dean to his room. His stomach is churning with anticipation of the talk they’re finally going to have. But instead of heading into the guest room for the inevitable discussion, Dean gets caught up in the photographs on the hallway wall. “That guy looks like you,” he says, pointing to one old sepia-toned photo.

“That’s my grandfather,” Castiel says. “When he was a young man. And this photo is of my mother’s family, when they lived in New York in the 1920s. There’s my mother’s mother.” He points to a fat, rosy-cheeked child in the lap of an older woman.

“Hey, Cas,” Dean says suddenly, “do you know why I wanted to stay all week?”

Castiel blinks. "You wanted to stay for Hanukkah..."

"I know, but you did tell me every night was pretty much the same. Fact is, it wasn't Hanukkah I wanted to spend with you." He licks his lips, a nervous motion. "It's, uh... it's Christmas."

A million questions pop into Castiel's head at once. He says them all in one word. "Dean?"

Dean takes his hand. "Look, I don't like to talk about this. I don't want to talk about this. Not just ‘cause it's a crappy thing that happened, but it's..." He takes a little breath. "Well, it's embarrassing. It's stupid that I'm not over it. So it's..."

"Dean, you don't have to tell me anything." Castiel's mind is starting to roil, filling in the blanks. Did a girlfriend break up with him on Christmas Eve? Did he have an accident involving reindeer? Drank the spiked eggnog as a kid and threw up all night? The possibilities are endless, and Castiel tries to stop his mind from running in a thousand directions at once.

He's focused, at last, by the sound of Dean's voice. "I was a kid," he says. "Sammy was still a toddler. One or two. And it was Christmas Eve."

He leans back, folding his arms over his chest, staring past the photos at some faraway spot. Castiel watches him, careful not to move or make a noise.

"Mom and Dad were... going through a rough patch, I guess. I didn't know the details, I just knew there was a lot of yelling, starting around Thanksgiving. Still, they did  up the house for Christmas. Big tree, stockings up on the fireplace, the works. I was pretty excited. Wanted to stay up and see Santa. You know. I was a kid.

"Something happened around dinnertime, I think it was. I dunno what they were fighting over, but Mom told me to take Sam upstairs for a while. I remember being in my bedroom, playing with Sammy, and downstairs I could hear them yelling, and things breaking...

"I left Sam up there, and I went to the stairs. Went down bit by bit, just so I could peek...

"First thing I see is Mom grabbing the stockings from the wall, throwing them down on the floor. Yelling something about how Dad's ruining Christmas. I don't remember exactly what they said, or how long I was sitting there, but I just remember the feeling. Like I'd found some kind of hidden monster, something I wasn't supposed to know about.

"They never noticed me. And eventually I guess I just went back upstairs. Put Sammy to bed, went and hid in my own bed. I heard this big thump downstairs, then the door slamming, the car starting... I dunno, somehow I went to sleep.

"In the morning, I guess I'd forgotten all about it. It was Christmas, that's all I knew. Which meant Santa came. So I wake Sammy up and we run downstairs and... the tree is..."

Dean's voice breaks. He closes his eyes, taking a shaky breath in. Castiel has never wanted so badly to throw his arms around Dean and shield him, protect him from the rest of the story. As though he could hug him so tightly that his past would disappear. He clenches a fist and stays silent and still, hard as it is.

"The tree is... well, it's lying across the living room floor. There are cracked ornaments, and tinsel everywhere, and our stockings... and Mom's kneeling in the middle of it all, in her nightgown, crying and crying. Sammy takes one look and starts crying too, and Mom looks up. Her face is just...

"And none of us is strong enough to lift the tree, so it just lies there, all day. Mom gives us presents, but nobody feels like celebrating. I guess eventually Dad comes home, and they work things out, but I don't remember any of that. I just remember how freaking scared I was. How helpless.

"We had other Christmases, you know, but nobody was really into it. And I just hated 'em. And I still hate 'em. Even though I'm all grown up, and Mom and Dad are still together, and pretty happy from what I can tell... I just never stopped feeling scared, like somehow, the more you build Christmas up, the harder everything's gonna fall apart."

What can Castiel say, in the face of all that? His blood is pounding in his ears, but there are no words in his mind. He lifts his arms and envelops Dean in a hug. Dean's stiff in his arms, unmoving, but it doesn't matter. Castiel needs this embrace, maybe more than Dean does. It's the only way he can possibly feel useful in the face of such a story.

"Dean, I'm sorry. I had no idea," he says,  knowing the words are weak, maybe even useless. "Thank you for telling me."

Dean shrugs and takes a long breath, the lines of his body relaxing as he lets it out. "After that, well… I've never wanted to spend Christmas with anyone.  Didn't think anyone could change it for me, you know? After so many years hating it so much. But you..." He gives Castiel a soft, slightly guilty smile. "I didn't want to say anything, didn't want to jinx it. But I figured if anyone can save Christmas for me, it's you."

"You wanted to spend Christmas with me," Castiel echoes dumbly.

"Yeah. So, uh, Merry Christmas, Cas." Dean shrugs and grins. "And, you know what? I think you're right. We should just come clean. I don’t know how ugly it’s gonna be, but if you’re as sick of pretending as I am…”

“Are you sure?” Panic quickens Castiel’s heartbeat. “I don’t know what they’ll say. How they’ll treat you when they find out.”

Dean shakes his head. “Screw it. If you’re ready, I’m ready. I'm not ashamed of loving you. I'm damned glad you're in my life, and I'd defend that to anyone."

Castiel wavers for a silent moment, and then he launches himself forward into Dean's arms.

Dean catches him in an embrace, pulls him close, and kisses him. A furnace ignites deep in Castiel's body, and he pushes forward, unable to get close enough. Dean’s mouth over his is warm and relaxed, and his tongue tastes so sweet and bright where it nips along Castiel's own. Sighing into the kiss, Castiel grabs fistfuls of his shirt, hanging on for dear life. He loves this man so, so much. The sentiment rings in his head like a bell, low and clear.  It drowns out all reason, all caution, anything. He has to be in Dean's arms at this moment. That's all he knows.

And maybe that's why he doesn't hear the approaching footsteps, misses the initial gasp. But the choked, low sound that comes next opens his eyes.

"Oh, my God."

"I knew it."

Castiel retreats to the opposite wall and turns his head. His parents are standing at the end of the hallway, mouths open, faces etched with shock.


	8. Busy Christmas

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Special extra thanks to the fantastic [Crowgirl](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Crowgirl/pseuds/Crowgirl) and [Elizajane](http://archiveofourown.org/users/elizajane/pseuds/elizajane) for a beta that completely redirected this chapter and made it ten thousand million times better. I can't thank them enough.

**Chapter 7: Busy Christmas**

Castiel wakes up feeling as though he has the hangover of a lifetime. For a moment he's not sure why, but it comes back to him quickly. His stomach lurches as though he's eaten something rotten. Lying in bed, he stares up at the ceiling and wonders how in the hell he's supposed to get up and face the day.

The last bit of warmth and humor last night had come from Dean. As Castiel's parents stared, still in too much shock, Dean stifled a chuckle. "Well," he muttered. "No time like the present." He squeezed Castiel's hand. One last attempt at humor and warmth, before it all drained away.

"Dean," Abe said, "we need to have a talk with our son."

Dean met his gaze, his face stony. "I'm not going anywhere."

"Mom, Dad, I..." Castiel started. "We were just going to tell you..."

Abe didn't hear him, or didn't care to. "This is between us and Castiel," he said, his eyes still fixed on Dean. "You're in our house, Dean. I'm asking you to step aside for now."

Castiel sighed. "Just go to bed, Dean."

"The hell I will!" Ire flashed in Dean's eyes, and he scowled hard. "I'm not leaving you."

"It's all right. I'll be fine." He wouldn't -- his stomach was already roiling and his head was beginning to pound -- but Castiel fought through the anxiety, balling his hands into fists and doing his best to look brave. "There'll be time for us to talk to them. But this is just--" _Just ugly,_ he thought. "You don't need to see this."

"I don't wanna leave you," Dean insisted one more time, but his voice was weaker.

"Please," Castiel said. "Just go."

Dean hesitated - looking at Castiel's parents, then back at Castiel - but then he shook his head and sighed. "I love you," he said, dropping a kiss on Castiel's temple, and retreated behind his bedroom door.

Which left Castiel alone, staring down his parents, in a hallway at night. His mother was trembling. Abe made a sweep of his arm, gesturing toward the living room. Castiel was glad to follow his direction. At least they weren't going to do this right outside Dean's door.

Evelyn finally found her voice. "In my own house."

Castiel stayed silent. He looked from her to Abe, who shook his head slightly but said nothing.

"Under my roof. During the holidays. What were you thinking, Castiel? What could you possibly have been thinking?"

Too many retorts and pleas and apologies were fighting for dominance in Castiel's brain. "We were just going to tell you," he started.

Abe shook his head. "I don't know what to say, Castiel. I'm in shock.”

“I can't even figure out what you were thinking,” Evelyn said. “To bring him here under false pretenses! To not tell us what you're doing at school is one thing. But to bring Dean under my roof so you could lie to me to my face for a week?"

"We wanted to spend the holidays together. I couldn't think of any other way--"

"The truth would have been preferable," Abe said.

"The truth--" The concept brought Castiel to a standstill. Was his father seriously contending that Castiel could have just told them blithely one day that he was dating a non-Jew, and they'd be all happiness and light about it?

"We're not blind, son," Abe said. "Don't think we weren't suspicious. But every night we said to each other, Castiel's not the type to lie to us. He's too honest. He wouldn't do something like that."

"Dad--" Castiel was flailing inside, searching for the right words. If there were any. But how can he defend what he’s done? There was no rule that said he had to bring Dean home, to make the lie that bold and that obvious. And it wasn't even as if he and Dean had been that careful. He flashed back to that first afternoon, the two of them in the guest room, Mom right through the door. That had been too close a call. He should have known right then that it was foolish to try to sneak kisses and touches right under his parents' nose. If they were going to be just friends for the week, that's what they should have done. Instead, they'd called down the thunder.

But on the other hand, if he thought for even a minute that they’d understand or accept Dean, he never would have been tempted to lie. It wasn't his fault that she lived in a sheltered world where children never disappointed her and love never came unexpectedly. It wasn't his fault that he'd grown up fearing his father more than trusting him, that he'd never been the kind of man who'd lived up to Abe's expectations. They'd created this fantasy world for themselves as to who and what Castiel would be, and he'd struggled in vain to live up to it. Was it his own fault he'd chosen, for once, to live his own life?

He cleared his throat. "Dean is a good man," he said quietly. "Be angry at me, but please don't take it out on him."

"He's not blameless in this," Abe said sternly. "You are both responsible for what you've done."

"And my brothers are coming over tomorrow," Evelyn said. "What am I supposed to tell them? What do I say Dean is to you? Do you know how much of an embarrassment this is going to be?"

Anger stiffened Castiel's shoulders. He was pleading for Dean, and she had to turn it around and make it about _her_ instead -- her family, her embarrassment. Castiel and Dean weren't human beings with their own story, they were just trinkets in the showroom that was his mother's life, and now they were damaged. Unsightly.

"Do you want him to leave?" Castiel said softly.

Evelyn blinked. She straightened up and wiped her eyes. Glancing at Abe, she shook her head. "No, of course not. We wouldn't do that to him."

Castiel didn't know whether to be relieved or terrified. On the one hand, he didn't want to kick Dean out on Christmas, of all days. Not when Dean had just admitted he'd longed to spend Christmas with Castiel. But on the other hand, there was no telling what would be in store for Dean as his parents' anger simmered, and as relatives descended on the house for _Shabbos_ eve. "Thank you," he managed.

Evelyn stood there for a moment, just looking at him. "So many lies," she said.. "Not just you and Dean. But you told us you hadn't met anyone. You told us Dean had a girlfriend. Was it fun for you? Was it some kind of game, to see how much we'd believe?"

"No!" Castiel burst out. This, at least, he could defend. "I didn't see any other way. We had to make you believe it."

"Why?" his mother asked. Tears were starting to well in the corners of her eyes.

The question left Castiel speechless again. How could she ask that? Didn’t she know -- didn't they both know -- what kind of household they kept, the strict lines they’d drawn for who and what was acceptable in their eyes? Didn’t they know that even now he was crumbling under their gazes, convinced that he was a failure as a son, a failure as a Jew and a failure as a decent human being?

In Castiel’s silence, Evelyn had turned to Abe for comfort. "Is this my fault?” she asked, “Did I do something wrong? Did I teach my children to lie to me?”

_You did_ , Castiel thought bitterly. _You forced us to do this._ But even the rising anger didn’t crowd out the guilt.

Abe squeezed Evelyn's shoulder. "Of course not. You didn't do anything wrong." He cast stony eyes on Castiel. "Go to bed, young man," he ordered. "We will talk about this tomorrow."

"We were going to tell you," Castiel repeated, a final protest.

Evelyn took a breath to speak, but Abe quieted her with a few low words Castiel couldn't hear. She nodded stiffly and turned to head toward bed. Abe glared at Castiel for a few long moments, then, without a word, he, too, turned to go.

Castiel waited until they were gone, then rushed back to Dean’s room and knocked on the door. There was no answer. Carefully, he opened the door and peered inside. The room was dark, and Dean was lying on the bed still in his clothes from the day, fast asleep. Castiel sighed. He’d hoped for some kind of comfort. But he couldn’t disturb Dean now.

Somehow he made it upstairs and into his bed. But there wasn't much sleep to be had.

* * *

Eventually, he finds the strength to get up, and sneaks downstairs. The whole house is deathly quiet -- the calm before a storm, Castiel's sure of it. He sneaks down the hallway and knocks on

the closed door to the guest room. "Dean, it's me," he says in a half-whisper.

"Come on in," comes the reply. Castiel opens the door.

Dean is sitting on the made bed, looking out the window. His head at an angle, his shoulders back, one leg ducked under an arm, he looks like a sculpture. Even with the dark bags dragging at his eyes, he's so handsome Castiel has to catch his breath. A swell of love goes through him. How anyone could see this man and not adore him is beyond Castiel's ability to conceive.

He eases onto the bed beside Dean. "How are you?"

Dean turns away from the window. “Kinda pissed,” he says. “When you told me to go -- I went to sleep, because if I didn’t, I was gonna tear down the damn walls. I wanted to be there, and you wouldn’t let me.”

Castiel takes in a breath. “I-- It wasn’t--” He sighs. “I don’t think you being there would have helped.”

“Yeah, maybe not, but at least I could have--” He pauses. “Never mind. It’s over now. So what did they say? Should I pack?"

"No." Castiel squeezes Dean's hand. "You stay. They're angry with me, not you."

"But I'm the evil goy who lured you over to the dark side. You were such a good kid until I came along." There’s a touch of bitterness in Dean’s voice, but also a hint of amusement. Castiel relaxes to hear it. At least here, in this room and in this moment, they can laugh at the absurdity of the situation.

"It's going to be a busy day,” Castiel says. “Everyone's coming over at noon. Uncle Lucas and Aunt Rachel, who you met, and Uncle Zachariah and Aunt Naomi. Mom will be making a big _Shabbos_ meal, and we might try to go to the movies before sundown."

Dean cracks a smile. "A movie sounds good. Tell you one thing, though. I am sure as hell holding your hand in the movies."

"Good." Castiel leans against him. "No reason to lie anymore."

Their hands entangle now, on the smooth comforter, and at least for this moment Castiel feels as though he's found an oasis. Any minute now the house will fill with noise, and there'll be one parent or another peeking in through the open door and forcing them to separate, but at least just for now they can be totally true to themselves and each other. It's a relief.

The parent who eventually finds them is Abe. Castiel hears his footsteps and jumps up off the bed, crossing to the far side of the room before his father’s frame fills the doorway.

Abe doesn't even start with a good-morning. "Your mother went out early to the store," he says. "When she comes back, I expect you two to help her with the groceries. And be showered and dressed for your uncles and aunts to come over at noon. We'll be having lunch and preparing for Shabbat."

That's it, a short bulletin of the day's activities, and he's off again -- but not before a quick glance from Castiel to Dean and back again, as if to say, _I know you weren't always a room apart_. God forbid he should leave without at least one accusatory look.

"I suppose we can't hide in here all day," Castiel says. "At the very least, let's eat something before Mom comes home. She'll have bought out half the store, so we'll need our strength."

Dean rises from the bed, crosses the room, and lays a hand on Castiel's shoulder. "Cas," he says. "Everything's going to be okay."

Castiel just shakes his head. "You don't know that."

* * *

Over breakfast, Castiel has a chance to fill Gabriel in on the events of the previous night. Gabriel bursts to his feet with a thousand promises to give their parents what-for on the subject, but Castiel calms him down. "It's not going to do any good," he says. "Especially not with everyone coming over."

"So what, then? Just 'grin and bear it'?" Gabriel's incredulous. "You know what this is going to be like, don't you? Death by a thousand cuts. Remember Kali. It's going to suck to be both of you."

"Then it'll suck," Castiel retorts. "We can handle it. Better than having a knock-down, drag-out fight right in the middle of the holidays. This is Christmas Day for Dean, Gabriel. I'm not going to start a fight on Christmas." He thinks back to what Dean told him yesterday, how he said he came here to redeem the holiday. The last thing Dean needs is a reprise of the Christmas of his childhood, tempers overflowing, screams and sobs and slamming doors. Even if it's a cold holiday, it can at least be a civil one.

Evelyn arrives home about a half-hour later, and the three of them run out to the car to retrieve bags. Castiel's prediction about the size of her haul was correct: the trunk is full of paper bags wrapped in plastic ones, the blue-and-yellow stamp of "Shalom Market" on each. Castiel, Dean and Gabriel load up their arms and parade into the kitchen, then empty each bag. There are two big packages of stew meat and a huge turkey; pre-made kugels wrapped in foil pans; plastic tubs labeled "Tsimmes" and "Varnishkes"; carrots, broccoli and asparagus for roasting, plus onions and potatoes for stew; three bottles of Kosher red wine and one bottle of white; bagels, lox and cream cheese for lunch; and a number of desserts, from black-and-white cookies and colorful petit-fours to chilly pints that promise non-dairy Kosher sorbet. It is, Gabriel quips, enough food to feed the entire Israeli army.

Most of the haul goes in the refrigerator, but Evelyn gets right to prepping the turkey and stew meat. She avoids looking at Castiel or Dean, chopping vegetables and pouring red wine into the slow cooker, scowling with determination. Whether it's determination to cook the mother of all meals or determination to avoid conflict, Castiel's not sure. And it doesn't really matter. If Mom's not looking at him, he doesn't have to talk to her.

Dad, however, isn't as incommunicado as she is. He orders them to start setting the big dining room table for Shabbat dinner. Castiel delegates the tablecloth and napkin duty to Dean, so he doesn't have to go into the kitchen and grab plates and silverware out from Evelyn's nose. Castiel himself handles that task, grateful when she moves out of the way with barely a word to let him get at the meat-friendly _fleishig_ plates.

All in all, it's a fairly peaceful morning, despite the chilly atmosphere. But Castiel feels his heart sink and his defenses rise when, a full half-hour early, the doorbell rings and he hears his father welcoming Uncle Zachariah and Aunt Naomi in the front hallway.

"Here it comes," he mutters.

* * *

"It is colder than the devil's heart out there," Uncle Zachariah complains as he plods into the kitchen, shaking out his coat as he goes. He hands it to Evelyn without a word and stares a touch nervously at the throng of members of the younger generation that are waiting there. Behind him comes Aunt Naomi: tall, perfectly put together, her cheeks rosy with the chill and her demeanor icy. She has always reminded Castiel of Mary Poppins -- but not the warm, fuzzy version from the movie. No, she's the Mary from the original books: cold and disdainful, with a sharp tongue and no patience, even as she showed the Banks children wonders.

Unfortunately, Aunt Naomi has no wonders to show today or any other day. She gives Castiel and Gabriel an appraising look, and then her eyes fall on Dean. The look she gives him is just short of disgusted. "How are you both," she says, fixing her eyes on Castiel and Gabriel. It's a statement instead of a question, and one that ignores Dean's existence entirely.

"Good lord, how much food did you get, Evelyn?" Zachariah exclaims at the sight of the meat and vegetables scattered on the kitchen island. "You'll kill us all."

"There's no way we'll eat all of that," Naomi notes, her voice crisp and sharp. "Such a waste."

Evelyn, who's followed them in after putting away Zachariah's coat, stops on her way to take Naomi's and clucks her tongue. "You say that as though we won't be eating leftovers for a week."

"But so rich," Naomi says. "It can't be good for you, to have rich food night after night."

"I'll worry about my cholesterol, Naomi," Evelyn retorts with some indignation. "You don't have to."

Castiel's heart sinks. His mother's clearly in a terrible mood. She doesn't get on with Naomi in the best of circumstances, but today she's on edge enough to snap at her. And it hurts Castiel like hell knowing he's the reason why.

Zachariah takes a deep breath and heads toward Castiel and Gabriel with a huge, fake smile. "So, boys! Nice to see you again, you're both looking well. And who, may I ask, is this?"

Clearing his throat, Castiel offers up his own best fake smile as Dean reaches out to shake Zachariah's hand. "Uncle Zachariah, this is Dean Winchester. He's a friend of mine from colle..."

"Dean is Castiel's boyfriend."

For a moment Castiel thinks Gabriel's spilled the beans. But the voice wasn't his, and both Castiel and Zachariah turn to see Evelyn, smiling as sunnily as she can, a dishtowel trembling slightly in one hand.

Castiel's mind is still boggling as Zachariah turns back to Dean, nodding his head. "Oh, I see. Well, well. Hm." He can't seem to find any more encouraging words than that, and Castiel glowers at him. At least say nice-to-meet-you.

Zachariah retreats after a minute of awkward silence, and Naomi takes the opportunity to whisper in his ear. Zachariah nods, and his gaze goes right back to Dean. Castiel can all too easily imagine what's being whispered.

A clatter sounds from the kitchen as Evelyn tries and fails to lift the washed bird out of the sink. "Zachariah, help me with this turkey, would you?" she pleads, and humming and harrumphing, Zachariah obliges. "How is the school, Naomi?"

"The _university_ is fine," Naomi says, leaning on the word.

"Aunt Naomi is the dean of Hebrew University," Castiel says to Dean.

Dean nods, pursing his lips. "There's a Hebrew university?"

"It's not a big school. It's mostly a Hebrew high school, actually. Gabriel and I both went, three days a week, after school and on Sundays. But there's a handful of students who continue at the college level, too."

"I still wish you had chosen to join us," Naomi says, eyeing Castiel. "You would have done so well."

Gabriel hmphs. "She never asked _me_ if I wanted to go. Not that I'd have said yes, but..."

Castiel can see panic rising on Dean's face, and doesn't blame him a bit. This is a bit of dirty-laundry airing he'd hoped would stay dormant for the duration of Dean's trip. But maybe it's better that he know now what he's getting into.

The doorbell rings a pleasant interruption. Castiel breathes a little easier. A moment later, Uncle Lucas and Aunt Rachel tumble into the kitchen, this time with Anna in tow. Castiel brightens, and she runs over to hug him and Gabriel hello. He's got no fear of introducing Dean as his boyfriend to her.

She pumps his hand vigorously. Dean looks vaguely surprised at the power Anna can pack into such a small frame. Having lost arm-wrestling matches to her all his life, Castiel is well aware of it. "It's so good to meet you, Dean. Cas, I'm so happy for you. Dean, be good to him."

"That's the plan," Dean answers, grinning, and for a moment there's actually peace on the homefront.

It doesn't last. Abe takes a moment to speak to Lucas and Rachel in a low voice, and the next thing Castiel knows, Lucas is descending on the with a huge, wicked smile. "You little rat, Castiel, you didn't tell us! Dean, welcome to the _mishpocha._ "

Castiel protests. "We're not getting married or anything..."

"Oh, pfft!" Lucas grabs Dean's hand and shakes it anew. "You better hope our crazy isn't catching, though. Or maybe you hope it is, I don't know. Castiel, you weird little duck. You'll have to tell me all about how you caught this one. Later, of course. Today's movie day!"

He saunters back to Rachel, who looks at him disapprovingly. Castiel has already noticed that she hasn't cast any favorable glances Dean's way since Abe spoke to her.

Anna glances at Castiel, the beginnings of a smile on her face. "I would love to hear how you met," she says. "Oh, by the way, I brought along a _pareve_ chocolate cake for dessert tonight. It's a new recipe. I think you'll like it, Gabriel."

"You had me at the word 'chocolate,'" Gabriel says with a grin.

"Wait till you taste Anna's baking," Castiel tells Dean. "Give her a bar of chocolate and 30 minutes and she'll create something incredible."

"Cas!" Anna flushes and swats his arm.

"Where's the lie, though?" Gabriel chimes in. It suddenly occurs to Castiel that all three of them are smiling, as though nothing had happened last night, as though there was no tension hanging in the air. Maybe, he thinks, everything will be all right after all.

But all he has to do is look over at his parents to know that's not the case. His gaze meets Evelyn's for a moment, and the look she gives him is almost pleading. She looks away, but not before Castiel thinks he sees tears rising to her eyes. In profile, she swallows hard, and her hands stiffen on the pan holding the turkey. She has to shake herself before she can go on working.

* * *

"All right," Lucas says, straightening up and clapping his hands. "Turkey's officially in the oven. Which means movie time."

Evelyn sighs. She's been slaving away in the kitchen preparing the bird, and now she's slumped against the kitchen counter, exhausted.

"Don't give me that look," Lucas says, pointing a finger at her. "You can sleep through it if you want. But this is a proud tradition. Jews go see a movie on Christmas. It's the law." He shifts his gaze to Dean, winking and grinning. "These are important things you need to know."

"Uncle Lucas," Castiel starts, but really, he's relieved. If only everybody else in the room would take to Dean the way Lucas is. He's a rat bastard sometimes, but Lucas is nothing if not open-minded.

For every time Lucas lobs an easy smile Dean's way, though, there's Uncle Zachariah and Aunt Naomi, looking down their noses at him in that petulant, snobbish way of theirs. And there's Aunt Rachel, talking to Evelyn in a low voice and patting her shoulder as though she's comforting a mourner in the midst of grief.  And Abe, his gaze constant and cool, making Castiel afraid he's on the verge of doing something extreme. His father isn't really the type to burst out in anger, but he's very, very good at making Castiel afraid of the possibility.

"Well, _we're_ going to the movies," Lucas says, gesturing at the younger generation. "If the rest of you want to come, that's up to you."

"We'll stay here," Rachel starts, but Evelyn stops her, stepping forward.

"We'll go," Evelyn says. She lobs a pointed look at Abe. "Won't we, dear?"

"Whatever you'd like," he replies. Castiel gets a lump in his throat. Why are they all of a sudden agreeing to come along? Are they hoping to spy on Dean and Castiel, ensure they don't do anything inappropriate in the theater? As though they're horny teenagers with no sense of decorum. The idea seems all too plausible, and a rush of anger replaces the anxiety.

"We'll stay here and keep an eye on the oven," Naomi says, eyeing Zachariah. Rachel volunteers to stay behind as well. Castiel's not one bit surprised. Naomi and Zachariah wouldn't be caught dead seeing any movie that doesn't play in an art house, and Rachel's not much of a cinema person. He hopes their distaste for Dean doesn't play into their decision, but he's not going to waste his time worrying about them. Not when there are still parents to deal with.

In the end, they pile into the big mini-van, Anna and Lucas in the middle seats, Castiel and Dean in the back. The whole way, Castiel swears he sees his father glance in the rear view mirror a little too often, as though checking on them. It's infuriating.

When they get to the movie theater and the lights lower, he grabs Dean's hand with a vengeance. He doesn't let go for the whole movie, even though his palm is hopelessly sweaty by the end. It's an act of defiance, in his own small, subtle way. His parents' disapproval is not going to break him.

* * *

"So! Good movie, wasn't it?" Lucas says blithely as they sit down to dinner. "You missed a good show, Rach. Lots of explosions. I know you love those."

"I regret it already," Rachel replies, deadpan.

The smell of stew and turkey floats through the air. Slices of meat lie in mouthwatering layers on a serving plate. Bowls full of vegetables and noodle dishes sit steaming, spaced out across the table. Abe lifts his wine glass to say the _kiddush_ , the Shabbat and Hanukkah candles gleaming on the sideboard behind him. Castiel's heart is doing that odd wobbly thing it does when he's got a hope in his heart he doesn't dare trust. Everything's been simmering below the surface today, but nothing has come to an explosive boil yet. If this keeps up, he actually might make it through this day unscathed.

They say _hamotzi_ and break off uneven pieces of the braided _challah_ , then dig into the food. Mom's beef stew tastes like comfort and childhood, and a piece of Castiel melts. If only every moment in his parents' house felt like this, just happy memories and the warm weight of a tradition meant to comfort, not censure. And looking over at Dean, who's delighted at all the delicious food being passed his way, Castiel has high hopes for the remainder of the day.

They don't last.

It all starts innocently enough. Lucas is doing his part of being the Friendly Uncle, quizzing Dean lightheartedly about how he and Castiel met. The conversation turns to their religion class, and then to religion in general, and Dean's explaining that he was interested because his own family isn’t the traditional kind.

"Well," Lucas says, taking a giant forkful of turkey and gnawing on it, "we've got enough traditions for two families. Why don't you take a few home with you? Try them on, see how they fit."

"Lucas!" Evelyn's chide is still only half-serious.

"That's why I'm here, sir," Dean says brightly. "To experience the traditions."

Lucas gives a low whistle. "Hope you haven't bit off more than you can chew there. Our family's a nice place to visit, but I wouldn't want to live there."

This time the scolding tone comes from Zachariah. "Now what kind of a thing is that to say in front of company?"

"Whoa, whoa! I speak but the truth, and don't you dare try to deny it." Lucas laughs. "Come on, you expect a nice, normal fellow like Dean here to opt in to our crazy? I sure wouldn't."

"Your brand of crazy is on a completely different level," Zachariah shoots back. "Which is why I don't appreciate your characterizing our family to this young man."

"Our family's great," Lucas says with a wide smile. "I'm just saying, we're a little hard to get used to. It takes a few years. You know, to memorize everything and remember what you're supposed to do and when you're supposed to do it. I grew up with it all, and even I don't remember everything. If I were you, Dean, I'd start taking notes.”

“Uncle Lucas, don’t--” Castiel starts.

Lucas waves him away and plunges on ahead. “I don’t mean right now, of course. No writing on _Shabbos_. But they'll come in handy later on, when you're trying to remember whether it's okay to have vegan cheese with soy hamburgers."

"I'm sure vegan cheese will be the least of Dean's concerns," Zachariah mentions calmly. "If he's thinking of conversion, there's a lot he'll have to study. Torah, Midrash... far more than a comparative religion course will cover."

Castiel goes hot all over. He leans forward and drops his fork. “Dean and I haven’t talked about--”

"Of course we have conversion courses at the university," Naomi says, raising her wine glass to her lips. "And I'm sure tuition wouldn't be a concern." She takes a small sip and smiles, looking supremely pleased with herself for being so magnanimous.

"Would you quit talking as though the boy's engaged?"

Abe's words, harsh and low, come out of nowhere. Lucas — and, indeed, everyone — turns to stare.

Abe's fist is white-knuckled and rigid, clenched around a fork. His face is stormcloud-dark. "You can stop treating Dean like he's part of the family, Lucas. And you can stop making plans for his conversion, Zachariah. Castiel's twenty. He's far too young to be making a major commitment. I'm sure Dean doesn't appreciate that kind of pressure, either."

"Mr. Novak, I'm--" Dean starts, but it's clear nobody's listening.

"I'm simply stating the only possible way this relationship can proceed," Zachariah says flatly.  "I'm assuming you haven't relaxed your standards, Evelyn."

Evelyn gasps. "Zachariah, that is inappropriate."

"He's just saying what everyone's thinking!" Lucas throws up his hands. "It's amazing the kid's lasted this long. I'm surprised you didn't throw him out on his ear when you found out."

"Perhaps she should have," Zachariah mutters. "Then we wouldn't have to listen to you make a fool of yourself."

"Fool nothing, you dinosaur--" Lucas starts.

The slam of hands on the table stops him, and a rush of motion draws everybody's eyes. Dean's on his feet, throwing his napkin down.

“I am _right here,_ ” he says. A growl tears at the edges of his words. Castiel’s heart starts to pound. He’s seen Dean like this before, and he knows there’s no stopping what’s to come.

“I dunno if this is how you people usually treat your guests, but just as an FYI? Throwing around their lives in your game of holier-than-thou ain’t very polite where I come from. And just for your information, nobody said I was gonna marry Cas. But nobody said I won’t, either. That’s his decision and mine, when we get there. If we get there. But it’s not yours. Not _any_ of yours.” His gaze falls to Abe.  “And I’ll tell you one more thing, I’m not gonna change who I am or what I believe just to get in good with the family.  Now, if that’s not good enough for Cas, that’s his call. But _you’re_ not gonna scare me away from him.”

He glances at Castiel. How to react to that look? Castiel’s so ashamed of himself for not saying more, not fighting harder. He should have seen this coming a mile away. He should have protected Dean somehow, kept it from coming to this. This moment is his failure.

Dean’s eyes linger. Then he looks away with a soft, bitter laugh. Castiel’s heart sinks.

"But hey,” he says with a shrug, “If you all want to talk about me like I'm not here, I’ll make it easy on you and go call a cab."

“Dean,” Castiel starts. He hears a sob from his mother, a mumble from Lucas that might be the beginning of an apology. No sound from Zachariah and Naomi.

“Dean,” Abe says, trying to restore order. “Listen, son, I don’t blame you for being upset. Just sit down and--”

“Screw the cab.” Gabriel jumps to his feet. “I’ll drive you.”

“Gabriel!” Evelyn chokes halfway through the word, the last “L” lost in tears.

Dean nods. “Thanks, man.”  His chair squeaks against the floor as he pushes it back. A few foot stomps later, he's gone.

Castiel stares at the spot where he was for a few agonized instants. Then he's up and moving. His father calls a harsh "Castiel!" after him, but Castiel doesn't even look back.

* * *

He finds Dean in the guest room, throwing clothes into his bag. Wrinkled and unwashed, they layer into an unsightly pile.

"I don't give a damn if they don’t approve of me," he says. "Ignore me, give me dirty looks, what-the-hell-ever. But I am not a freaking pawn for them to use in their arguments with each other."

"I know," Castiel says. "I know, it's not fair."

"Not fair!? It's fucked up, is what it is. Who the hell does something like that? Who takes out their frustrations on their own blood by throwing around the life of a total stranger? Damn it, Cas. I don't know what the hell I expected, but it wasn't that."

The anger in the air terrifies Castiel. "I'll talk to them," he promises, anxious to find some kind of equilibrium. "I'll... I'll fix it. Somehow, Dean..."

"No, you know what?" Dean stops pacing to stare straight at him, and his eyes are burning. "I don't want you to fix it. I don't want you going behind my back or over my head and trying to make everything right for me. We're a team, Cas. We're supposed to be together on this. I don't want or need you protecting me."

Maybe the words aren't meant as an attack, but that's how Castiel feels them. All at once he's feeling terrible for everything he's done this week, all the times he's stepped forward to try and make sure Dean's holidays weren't ruined. And, in addition to the guilt, an answering anger rises in him. He's bent over backwards so that Dean could enjoy his time here, and now Dean's blaming him for it, like he did something wrong?

"What do you want me to do?" he asks, a bitter rasp of frustration in his voice. "We knew this was going to get messy. I'm just trying to keep you out of it as much as I can."

"Yeah, well, great freakin' job," Dean says, his hand sweeping forward to indicate the direction of the dining room.

"That's why I'm saying I'll fix it!" Castiel tries to grab at his outstretched hand, but Dean pulls back. A reaction that stings as hard as a slap, and Castiel recoils too, stepping back and leaning against the far wall. "Dean, please. I'm as much at a loss here as you are. How was I supposed to know they'd do this?"

"They're _your_ family," Dean snaps, but then he lets out a little sigh. His shoulders droop. "Damn it, Cas, I'm a person, too. I've got my own life. But here I am just trying to keep the damn peace, and what's it get me? Nobody's thinking about my side of all this. Even you. And I don't say that to piss you off, but c'mon, Cas. There's a point where I can either be nice, or I can be me. And I'm starting to think you like the nice guy better than you like me."

"Dean..." Castiel feels as though he's mired in quicksand. Everything has slowed down to a crawl. His limbs are heavy and a sick lurch of horror is turning his stomach.

"God damn it," Dean whispers, pressing a palm to his forehead. "And here I thought Christmas was gonna be better this year."

He looks so pained, Castiel can't find any words at all.

A crisp knock sounds on the door. “Ready to go when you are, champ,” says Gabriel.

“Don’t go.” Castiel grabs Dean by the wrist. Dean looks down at the fingers on his skin, then eases slightly out of the grasp, holding  Castiel’s hand loosely in his own.

“You know I can’t stay here,” he says. “Not now. The bridge is crossed, Cas. No going back.”

Castiel can’t think of anything to say besides “I’m sorry.” So that’s what he says. Three times.

Dean squeezes his hand. “Come with me,” he says. “Let’s just go. We’ll crash at Sam’s friend’s place for the weekend. Everything’s so much better when it’s just the two of us, or us and our friends. Things’ll make sense again.”

Castiel shakes his head slowly. “I can’t. I can’t get in a car on _Shabbos_ , Dean.”

“What the hell are you talking about? Remember that time Benny picked us up and we all went to that pancake house? That was a Saturday.”

“I was at school. It’s different at home.”

“So, once you’re out the door you won’t be at home anymore. And then it’ll be fine, right?” He looks at Castiel, sees the sorrow still in his eyes, and sighs with exasperation. “I swear to God, Cas. I get that there’s some kind of logic to what you do and when you do it. But sometimes I just can’t freaking follow it at all.”

He lets go of Castiel’s hand, slings his bag over his shoulder and opens the door.  Gabriel’s waiting, spinning the car keys between two fingers. “Let’s go,” says Dean, and Gabriel leads the way down the hall and toward the door.

Castiel follows, saying anything he can say, words falling from his lips like rain. “Dean, please. It’s just one more day. I’ll talk to them. No, _we’ll_ talk to them. Just don’t leave, Dean.”

At the door, Dean gazes at him with sad eyes. “I never wanted to make you choose between your religion and me,” he says. “But now I’m not sure that I’m even part of the damn equation.”

“Dean…” Castiel wants to reassure him, to tell him that of course he is, but in this case, it might not be true. He’s under his parents’ roof, and that means respecting their traditions. Some things are just a given, and some rules aren’t broken. No matter if it breaks your heart.

“So you won’t come with me?” Dean asks, one final time.

Castiel sighs. “I can’t.”

“Yeah,” Dean says quietly, “you can.” He turns away and heads out the door. It slams shut, and Castiel is alone.

* * *

His feet feel like they’re made of concrete, but Castiel makes his slow way back down the hall. Voices rise from the dining room as he passes. His mother is shouting, crying and yelling. He can tell without looking that her face is red and streaked with tears, that the lines in her forehead have deepened into deep trenches.

“And now he’s gone,” he hears her say, “And so is Gabriel. Are you happy with yourselves? You’ve driven a guest out of our home and made a fool of our whole family. And I don’t even want to think about what Castiel must be feeling right now!”

Castiel doesn’t want to think about it, either. He considers returning to the dining room, if only to apologize to Anna that he’s no longer in the mood to eat her cake. But he can’t summon up the energy to lift his head, much less speak. Staring at his feet the whole time, he makes his slow way upstairs to his room and slams the door.

The light switch has been taped down for _Shabbos,_ and the room is dark. Good. This is where he belongs, alone and surrounded by blackness. Here, he can lie on the bed and pretend he doesn’t exist at all. What’s the point of existing, if all he’s going to do with it is hurt the people he loves? Has God put him on this earth just to alienate everyone he’s ever cared for?

It was a mistake to even bring Dean here. Maybe it was a mistake to even get together with him. Or maybe it was coming home that was the mistake. Maybe he should be more like Gabriel, ready to throw away all the trappings of tradition the minute he gets free.

But he’s not Gabriel. For better or worse, he’s Castiel, and he cares about his faith, and his family, _and_ Dean. Maybe he’s just not destined to have all three at one time.

He’s about to throw a pillow over his head when a loud chime sounds in the room. A low glow breaks the curtain of darkness. His phone. In the tumult of the day, he’s forgotten to turn it off prior to Shabbat. Turning onto his side, he pulls it from his pocket and gazes at the screen.

_I’m staying at Christian’s place. Just FYI._

As Castiel looks, the phone chimes again, and a second message slides into view below the first.

_I hope I haven’t shot things to hell for you and your family. But there’s times when a guy has just had enough, you know?_

Castiel sighs. He does know, and he doesn’t blame Dean. He wants to say so, to text Dean back. But it’s still _Shabbat._ He watches the screen go dark again, knowing that there’s no way Dean will leave it at that.

He's right. Another minute, and the phone beeps and lights up again.

_Cas?_

Another thirty seconds, and Dean finally catches on.

_You're not texting tonight either, are you? Damn it, Cas._

Castiel has been tempted to break Shabbat on many occasions, but never as badly as he is now. His thumb hovers over the screen, trying to decide whether or not to swipe. Would it be so bad if he just cheated this once? Just to tell Dean that he's sorry, that he should have done better? That he hopes they’re not broken forever?

But if he’s lost Dean for good, and if he’s failed his parents, his traditions may be all he’s got left.  He can’t bring himself to break them. Not now.

He slides his phone into a drawer. It beeps once more, but Castiel clenches his hands into fists and ignores it. Somehow or other, he finds sleep.


	9. Let There Be Light

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All of the love in the world to [Crowgirl](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Crowgirl/pseuds/Crowgirl) and [Elizajane](http://archiveofourown.org/users/elizajane/pseuds/elizajane) for a beta -- no -- an _editing_ experience that taught me so much. I owe you more than I can say.
> 
> And love to [dazedrose](http://archiveofourown.org/users/dazedrose/pseuds/dazedrose) for a beautiful banner capturing the spirit of this work.
> 
> More notes at the end.

**Chapter 8: Let There Be Light**

Saturday arrives with a cold front that sends a chilly draft of air across Castiel's body when he throws off the covers. The floor is ice against his bare feet.

Everyone showers, dresses, and files out the door like they're going to a funeral, silent and sober. They walk to shul two by two, Mom and Dad leading the parade with stiff backs and no words. Gabriel and Castiel follow several steps behind, but even Gabriel is quiet, casting nervous eyes at Castiel every few seconds. He arrived home last night after Castiel was even in bed, and knocked on his door. Castiel didn't have the strength to get up or answer.

Now, as they turn the corner toward shul, Gabriel coughs in the cold air, breaking his silence. "Feels like I'm breathing concrete," he complains. "Why did I leave Los Angeles at the coldest time of the year? I'm a crazy person."

Normally, Castiel would say, "No kidding." Now he just looks at Gabriel briefly, unable to summon up words. He wants to ask, was Dean angry, in the car on the way into town? Did he complain? Did he seem sad or at all regretful? The biggest question on Castiel's mind is one Gabriel can't answer: Has Castiel lost Dean forever?

Gabriel shoves his hands in his pockets and gives Castiel a critical once-over. "Look," he says, "for what it's worth? He looked pretty miserable. I think there was a part of him that felt bad for going." He pauses. "You mad at me for giving him a lift?"

Castiel sighs. "Of course not. I don't blame him for going. If I were Dean, I'd probably do the same thing. I just..."

"You just miss him," Gabriel fills in the blank.

Castiel nods. "Something like that."

The building approaches, large and gray. As they file in through the front doors and pick out _kipot_ from the big wicker basket, Castiel flashes back to his childhood. It doesn't seem so long ago that he was too small to reach the basket, so Gabriel would reach in and get him a _kipah_ , affix it to his hair with a bobby pin. Castiel would want to hold his hand, and Gabriel let him, for a time, before he started getting invested in what the other kids thought of him. Then he became the distant big brother, so grown-up looking in his new striped tie and jacket. Always winking at some girl or trading whispers with a boy in his class. Mom and Dad would scold him.

Castiel had wanted to be a grown-up, too. But he didn't want a scolding. So he made sure to always behave in shul, sitting up straight and reading carefully along in the _siddur_. It was poetry and mystery in that prayer book, and even in the solemnity of it, a kind of joy. The congregation's voices rose in celebration of God and the Torah, and the melodies wound their way deep into Castiel's heart.

Now, he's grown even taller than Gabriel, every bit the grown-up he wanted to be. But as they take their seats in the pews, then rise for the opening of the ark, the familiar tunes fail to move him. Regret and dread hang like a weight in his throat, closing his vocal cords. He mouths the words, but they don't come out.

The cantor calls out the _Sh'ma_ , and Castiel covers his eyes for the repetition of the prayer:

_Hear, O Israel!_  
_The Lord is our God;_  
_The Lord is One._

The _Sh'ma_ is the most important prayer in all of Judaism. It is supposed to be the first thing a Jew says when he wakes up, and the last thing when he goes to bed. It's the prayer that's scrawled on a scroll inside the _mezuzah_ on the doorpost, marking a home as a Jewish one. And it's supposed to be the last thing that crosses a Jew's lips before he dies. Castiel took it all very seriously growing up. He's less literal about it now, but it still means something to him, saying those words.

But he's learned other words, too, that he now holds sacred. Like "I love you" and "I'm here for you." He's spoken those words over and over, in dark nights and tight embraces, and thought he would always honor them. But he failed to do so in the moments that mattered most. And he's terrified now that he's lost the chance to ever say them again.

Would he have gone with Dean, if he had it to do over again? What would that have been like, waking up in a strange apartment on Shabbat morning and huddling with Dean over a cup of coffee, doing their best not to think or talk about what had come before? Castiel thinks it might have delayed the pain a while, but he can't imagine it would have prevented it.  This moment, with Castiel caught between two worlds, would have arrived no matter what decision he made. The moment he and Dean came together as a real couple, it became inevitable.

He listens to the Torah portion and the rabbi's sermon, watches the _bat mitzvah_ girl accept her gifts from the congregation, and stands for the silent recitation of the _Amidah._ A week ago he'd dared, at the end of this prayer, to send a single wish of his own up to the heavens. _Please let this week not be a disaster_ , he'd prayed. It seems God was not inclined to grant him that wish.

What should he wish now? Every cell in his body yearns for Dean to be close to him again. But he feels a million miles away from his parents, though they're sitting right there, and he misses them. He misses the gentle, shared enjoyment of the sung parts of the service. The way they'd sway to one prayer as though it were a campfire song. The glowing smiles they'd share at the song that ends the service -- smiles that were never about the tune itself so much as the bagels that lay in wait at the _kiddush_ reception in a neighboring room. Should he instead wish for that closeness back? What if the only way to regain it is to say goodbye to Dean forever? Must he choose between two halves of his happiness?

In the end, he gives the only mental plea he can think of. _Please_ , he says silently, _help me find my place. Let me figure this out_.

* * *

Gabriel is a savior at the end of the service. As they file into the community hall for lunch, he tells Castiel an uproariously funny story about meeting Tom Hiddleston in a studio parking lot. It gets Castiel's mind off the heaviness in his heart for at least a few minutes, and then there are bagels and tiny hard cookies for him to eat, and after the two-plus-hour service, he's hungry enough that his animal appetite drowns out higher brain function for a time.

The community hall is packed with people. When Castiel was young, he used to move among the forest of jackets and dresses like a little animal, sneaking between the cracks in the moving maze to get his fists around as many sweets as he could fit in them. As an adult, it's a lot more difficult to navigate. He finds himself waiting an eternity for an older man to finish spreading egg salad on a bagel, and berates himself for both his impatience and his disgust at the combination. He eats his own bagel dry.

Dean's words from last night -- _we're supposed to be a team_ \-- have been ringing in Castiel's head. Castiel had thought they were. The two of them, united in their simple, shared goal to spend the holidays together. And then, hadn't they been united in their determination to tell his parents, in that brief second before their secret was out? When had Castiel made the misstep that had broken their united front? Had it been when Castiel told him to return to his room? When he didn't speak up loudly enough at dinner? When he'd remained behind as Dean left? When had their unity shattered, and was there anything Castiel could have done to prevent it?

He knows he shouldn't be running this through over and over in his head. Nothing he _thinks_ now will fix it. It's what he does from here on out that matters. But Castiel's still not sure what he _will_ do. He suspects the answer will come once his parents finally have it out with him. They're still due for the conversation they were supposed to have yesterday, the one that guests and movies and dinner fights interrupted. He expects it will happen today, and that makes him not so eager to get home. He returns to the long table for another half a bagel.

This time he doesn't have to wait on any elderly men doing obscene things with egg salad. Bagel, cream cheese, classic Jewish comfort food, and Castiel's just about to bite into it when he hears the shout from clean across the room.

"Well, for crap's sake, Evelyn, no _wonder_ he left!"

It's not so loud that it captures the entire room's attention. But it carries over the cacophony well enough that Castiel's not the only one who turns. His gaze zooms over the crowd to find the source of the voice. Over by the side of the room, tucked into a little alcove, Evelyn and Abe are standing with Bobby and Rufus. Bobby's got one arm thrown out to the side, fingers spread in an emphatic gesture.

The bagel hits the floor, cream cheese side down. Castiel pushes through the crowd to get closer. As he goes, he sees Rufus put a steadying hand on Bobby's shoulder. "Leave it alone, Bobby," he says. "It's not our business."

"I met that kid," Bobby replies. "He's a good kid. If I were him, I sure would have bolted, too."

"But why?" Evelyn says. "It's not as if we were being rude to him. If anything, we were encouraging him."

"By going on about converting?" Bobby's voice cracks with incredulity. "You don't just bring that up like it's pickin' out a new shirt to wear, Evelyn."

"But didn't you convert?" Evelyn says, turning to Rufus with a searching look.

"Did I convert? Yeah." Rufus folds his arms. "Did I do it for Bobby? No. I did it 'cause I wanted to. He never asked me to, not once."

"And it was years," Bobby says. "What was it, twelve years? Fourteen?"

Rufus shrugs. "Something like that. Eventually I realized that being around it all, Jewish life had sunk into me whether I liked it or not." He gives a rueful snort, then sobers, shuffling his feet against the floor. "Look, Evelyn. Maybe that'll happen with this young man Castiel's seeing. Or maybe it won't. No way of telling."

"But you can't force him into it." Bobby's tone is still aggravated. "And come on, Evelyn, you remember being in your twenties. Did _you_ want to do everything you got told to do?"

She flushes. "Of course not-- but there were some lines you didn't cross. There was some _respect_ \--" She runs out of words and shakes her head.

Bobby says, flatly, "Kids are always gonna cross the lines you don't want 'em to."

Evelyn's face falls. Castiel's heart twinges. He's seen that look before, a long time ago, in an unlikely place.

It was the look on the face of a kid, back in first grade, who came into class morose and sat unsmiling all morning. Castiel remembers being fascinated by the emotion etched on his face, staring at him across the rows of desks and trying to imagine what he could possibly be so sad about. At lunch, Castiel finally crossed the room and asked if he was okay. The kid burst into tears. "My p-parents told me S-s-santa isn't real!" he’d wailed.

Castiel, who'd never had a Santa to believe in, had been puzzled by the reaction. It took him a long time to understand what that kid must have been feeling, taking something he'd believed in his whole life and having it thrown out in a moment of hard truth. Now, looking at his mother, Castiel imagines she might be feeling much the same.

He doesn't want to watch her faith in the world shatter, and he doesn't feel worthy of witnessing it. But he's paralyzed. A rush of shame rolls over him so strong that his knees buckle. Vision suddenly narrowing to a few bright points on a field of gray, he wavers, threatening to topple.

A hand grabs his shoulder, another on his back. He turns his head. Gabriel's there, his hands steadying, his face as serious as Castiel's ever seen it. "Come on," Gabriel urges. He guides Castiel forward, toward where Evelyn and Abe are standing.

"Ma," he calls from a safe distance away, "Cassie and I are gonna go take a walk. We'll meet you at home later." And swiftly, before their parents can answer, he steers Castiel through the crowd of people and out to the coat room, then out of the building into the crisp winter air.

* * *

They circle the building, turning the corner to pass the wing where the Hebrew school is located. A thin veil of snow covers the grass where Castiel tumbled with friends on warm Thursday afternoons after school got out. Cars crowd the parking lot out back. Not everybody lives close enough to walk to shul.

Castiel can feel Gabriel's gaze on him, warm and concerned as the hand on his back had been earlier. He fumbles for words, gives up, and takes a deep gulp of the cool air. Gabriel lets the silence linger.

At last words find their way to Castiel's throat. "Poor Mom," he says.

Gabriel chokes out a laugh. "Poor Mom?" he says. "What happened to poor you?"

Castiel squints at him. "What are you talking about? I'm the one who caused this whole thing. That must have been humiliating for her, just now."

"She's the one who opened her big mouth about it. If she was looking for a sympathetic nod and a pat on the back, she should have told someone other than Bobby. Love him or hate him, the man tells it like it is."

"True," Castiel admits. "Still, if I hadn't--”

"Hadn't what? Hadn't fallen head over heels in love like the hopeless romantic you are? Hadn't wanted to spend the holidays with your sweetheart? Cas, if you're guilty of anything, it's being a Hallmark Afterschool Special. Don't punish yourself for who you are. 'The heart wants,' blah blah blah. They're just going to have to deal with it."

The tirade catches Castiel off guard, and he stares at Gabriel, open-mouthed. A bird above them, light-footed on a snowy branch, jabbers as though it's got its own lecture to give.

Gabriel shrugs, a knowing smile on his face, and then raises one hand to clap Castiel on the back. "Seriously, Cassie," he says. "Give yourself a break. Of all the crazy-ass things you could have done at college, you met a guy. Big whoop."

"It is a 'big whoop,' though. To them." Castiel nods back at the shul building. They're on the other side of it now, heading back toward the front. Gabriel turns abruptly to cross the street, steering them away from the stream of people walking down toward their cars. Castiel follows, jogging across the street.

"That's them." Gabriel answers, when they're side-by-side again. They wander down a side street. "I'm talking about you."

Castiel peers at him. "They're our parents," he says flatly.

"Nobody's saying they're not. But you're a big boy now, Cassie. You get to make your own decisions. How you live your life -- that's not on them anymore. You're 20 now. It's on you to choose what you want to do."

"So I should just break my mother's heart? What gives me the right to do that? Why is my happiness more important than hers?"

"Why is it less important? Look." Gabriel lays a hand on his arm. "I can't tell you what to do about Dean. The point is, neither can they. Maybe you come away from this deciding that your life would be easier without him. What I don't want you doing is deciding that because you think _their_ lives would be easier. You picking up on what I'm putting down here? Your life is about you."

Gabriel's words prickle at Castiel's mind. It would make so much sense if they were talking about anyone but him. If a friend had this problem, Castiel would likely tell that friend the same thing. But in his own life, in the day-to-day reality of being Castiel Novak, it seems impossible. How can he extricate his own happiness from that of his family? They're all connected.

Plus, there's another question Gabriel hasn't mentioned: What if Dean has decided _his_ life would be better without Castiel in it?

"Hey, Cassie," Gabriel says suddenly. "Do you remember Grandma Hester?"

Castiel starts. "Not really," he says.

"Yeah, I don't remember a whole lot of her, either," Gabriel goes on. "But I do remember she was kind of anal retentive. I got the feeling she had to lay down the law a lot when Zachariah and Lucas were kids. She loved Mom to pieces, though. Like she thought, 'Finally, a daughter who's going to be a good girl and not drive me crazy like these boys are.'"

It's funny to think of Zachariah and Lucas as a pair of naughty children, running rampant through a house. Castiel imagines them banging pots and pans with wooden spoons, or getting into wrestling matches in the living room. But he's not sure why Gabriel's conjured up the image for him. "What's your point?"

Gabriel shrugs. "Nothing, really. I just wonder what it was like for Mom, growing up with that kind of pressure on her. To be the good girl, make her mother proud. Maybe even manage her brothers, even though she was the youngest. Like she does today."

Something hurts deep inside Castiel at the words. Mutely, he follows Gabriel around another corner, and now they're back on their street. Approaching the front door. It's like walking toward a black hole, and Castiel stops abruptly. Gabriel steps a few more paces forward, then turns back, realizing Castiel's now behind him. "Cassie?" he says.

"I don't know what's going to happen," Castiel hears himself say. "When we get back. They could .... they'll want to talk to me, and I don't know what they're going to say or do."

Gabriel saunters toward them. "Well, then," he drawls, "that is a good question. Here's another one for you, though. What the hell _can_ they do? Send you to your room? Revoke your TV privileges for a week?"

"They could take me out of school," Castiel says, though the words sound patently ridiculous. "Send me to Hebrew University."

"You're watched Bill and Ted a few too many times," Gabriel says with a laugh. "You're not getting shipped off to the military academy."

"I'm serious."

"Yeah, I can see that. But even if you're right, they can't watch you 24/7 to make sure you never talk to a goy again. Don't get all PC on me," he adds when Castiel bristles at the slur. "You know what I'm talking about."

"They're going to be so upset," Castiel says. "I don't want to make Mom cry again. I don't want to make Dad angry."

"So what if they get upset? People get upset. That's life." Gabriel gazes at him critically. "Look," he says, "let me say it another way. Cassie, what can they do to you that you're not already doing to yourself?"

Castiel's gaze flickers toward home. It's just a few doors away. And he knows, behind the walls and windows lies an end to the waiting. A chance to get it all out in the open, to make decisions. But he's not ready, and now Gabriel's question hangs heavy in his chest. He sighs. "Go on home," he says. "I'm... going to walk a little longer. Think about things."

"Think about things?" Gabriel asks. "Or torture yourself more?"

Castiel offers him a rueful smile. "I don't know," he says. "Maybe both."

"Don't spend too much time inside that head of yours," Gabriel says, raising a fist to knock Castiel gently on the forehead. "You're gonna miss life."

Castiel grasps Gabriel's wrist, pulls his arm down, and squeezes his hand. "Thank you," he says.

Gabriel looks confused for a moment. Then he shrugs, grins, and wheels off toward home. Halfway there, he raises a hand in a wave without looking back.  

* * *

Castiel heads south, toward the main street. On his way he passes the bus stop where he used to stand, as a child, and wait for the elementary school bus. His brain supplies him with a memory, a smell or a sensation, of the dark green seats and the muddled cluster of kids making their way on board with backpacks and lunch boxes. One of those kids was the boy Castiel had teased about his tuna fish sandwich, and he recalls telling Dean the story earlier this week.

Dean had told him, _you were a little assbutt._ And then, _we all sucked at life when we were kids_. Right now, Castiel's not so sure he sucks any less grown up. He's still saying and doing things that hurt others, despite his best intentions. He just doesn't remember to think about the consequences. In the moment, he says what he feels he needs to say, and then the fallout happens, and he's always bowled over by it. How can he have made it through life without learning to watch what he says? How can he have managed to get, and keep, a man like Dean, with his selfish thoughtlessness?

Then again, perhaps he hasn't kept Dean. Perhaps he's lost him.

He reaches the main street. Central Drive, it's called, and it runs right down the middle of town like a spine. Take one left, you're at the high school. Another, and you’re heading toward the shul. Go straight down a mile and a half, and you'll find yourself in the midst of a cluster of shops and restaurants, Eve's among them. That's where he and Dean went to lunch after visiting the elementary school. They'd talked history, and Castiel's old boyfriend, and Dean had run his foot up Castiel's leg and lit him up like a pinball machine inside. Despite everything, Castiel finds himself smiling at the memory.

And then, of course, they'd gone parking behind the high school, and that had been...

Castiel's cheeks feel hot, especially against the cold bristle of the air. He's so glad to have had those moments, even though things have imploded since. If Dean's gone, he realizes, if it's over, then he doesn't have anything left to be sorry for. He can't regret bringing Dean home. Sharing candlelit evenings with him, playing dreidel with Gabriel, even spending the morning with Mom eating donuts -- those are memories Castiel wants to hold on to, even if -- especially if -- they're all he has left.

But that's taking the easy way out. If he imagines Dean's out of his life now, that last night was a break-up and not just a slamming of doors, then he can march back to the house and inform his parents that they don't have a thing to worry about. _I’ve learned my lesson_ , he can say, and _it will never happen again_.  Never mind how accurate that statement might be -- it'd be a salve, smoothing over scraped emotions, bringing the family together again.

Is that what he wants? To just go back to where he's comfortable, where no feathers are ruffled, and staid tradition is upheld? An existence where he doesn't have to compromise anymore? For the first time, he seriously considers it. Considers shutting the door on his relationship with Dean, regardless of what Dean wants. Maybe, in the long run, that'd be easier for everyone.

The thought is sudden, sharp, and nauseating. Castiel grabs the trunk of a nearby tree and holds on tight as his stomach roils.

His mind fills with all that he'd lose. Dean is so _much_ to him. Sanity. Light. Joy. Just thinking about leaving that behind, for whatever reason, makes him want to curl up by the side of the road until the next snowfall freezes him to death.

The sick feeling subsides then, leaving in its wake a revelation.

He feels alive now, totally awake to the sprawl of the streets around him and the white wintry sky. It's his world, a place he can shape with his choices. He has the power to decide what it will be. And now he knows what he wants to do with it.

He loops down a side street to pass the shul again on his way home. That shul has been so much to him for so long. A school, a place of worship, a place for joyful gatherings and solemn holidays -- a place where Castiel grew up. And Dean had wanted to see it. He'd asked, and Castiel had taken him, because he wanted to bring Dean further into his life. It hadn't just been about showing off his culture to Dean's curious mind. Castiel had wanted him there, wanted Dean's presence to permeate those old haunts of his childhood. He'd wanted to integrate Dean's existence into his whole life. His past, his present, and -- he hoped -- onward into the future.

That's why he'd been so excited about bringing Dean home in the first place.

Castiel picks up the pace as he heads for home. Walking up his street, he sees his mother gazing out the dining room window. She catches a glimpse of him, then hurries away into the house. Castiel knows why. It doesn't slow him down.

Gabriel meets him at the front door. "They're gonna want to talk to you," he says.

"It's all right," Castiel assures him. "I'm ready."

* * *

Evelyn and Abe wait in the living room, sitting on the couch. As Castiel enters the room -- leaving Gabriel scurrying away, no doubt to eavesdrop -- Abe motions to the big easy chair that sits at the opposite corner of the coffee table. It's green and fluffy, and Castiel used to curl up and go to sleep there when he was a child.

Now, he grips the back of the chair and stares his parents down. "Before we start," he says, "I have something to say."

Evelyn lifts her hand and takes a breath as if to speak. Abe's hand on her arm stills her.

"You raised me well," Castiel says. "You raised me to respect tradition, to carry on the faith, to be a good Jew. And I've tried. I have never given up on that, no matter what you think I've done. I go to Hillel, I still keep Kosher, I attend services and I say my _Sh'ma_ before I go to sleep. I have never intended to throw any of that away just because I wasn't living under your roof.

"But Dean... he and I happened. And we happened despite everything, despite all my concerns and my doubts. You see, everything you worry about, all the dirty laundry and conflicts that come from interdating, I worried about them too. And I tried to avoid getting involved. But in the end, I made a choice. It may not have been the choice you'd make. But it was the right choice for me.

"Maybe you think I'm a failure. Maybe you think I've done this to hurt you, but I haven't. And I'm not trying to hurt you now. But you should know, before you say whatever it is you're going to say: I'm not giving up on Dean. If he still cares about me, I'm going to be with him. And nothing — _nothing_ — you say is going to change my mind."

His knees buckle a little under him as he finishes, but Castiel stays standing, and every second he remains on his feet feels like a victory. He's said it. He's meant every word. And whatever fallout comes next, he's confident he can bear.

Abe and Evelyn glance at each other. Castiel watches their expressions, but he can't read them. Finally, shifting in his seat, Abe tells him, "Sit down."

That’s it? After all of that, nothing but a _Sit down_? Confused, Castiel obeys.

"We're very upset that you chose to lie to us," Evelyn says. "We thought we had raised you to be an honest and forthright man, Castiel. You've never showed us any reason to believe the contrary. This was... it was a shock."

"It was hard to believe that you had a deceitful bone in your body," Abe says. "We never saw it coming, not from you."

"I didn't want to," Castiel says. "I couldn't think of another way."

Evelyn looks at Abe briefly. She gives a little sigh. "We know," she says. "And to the extent that you felt you couldn't tell us the truth, we are responsible for having created that environment. But, Castiel-- you made the choice to bring him here. You made the choice to actively lie to us. You can see why that's upsetting! Especially in front of the extended family." Worry lines furrow in her forehead, and her eyes glisten -- not with tears, but with the potential for tears yet to come. "It was just unnecessary."

“Unnecessary…” Castiel loses his words for a moment. And then they come back, in a heated rush. “Unnecessary was making me feel like if I even looked at a non-Jewish boy, you’d throw me out on the street. Do you not understand the way you raised me? Do you think I don’t remember the way you punished us when we broke _Shabbos_ , even by accident? The look you gave Gabriel when he mentioned he had a cheeseburger at a friend’s house? I won’t even get into what happened with Gabriel and Kali. Did you think none of that made an impression on me?”

“Castiel,” Evelyn starts. “We’re not perfect parents.”

“We tried to raise you to respect the faith,” Abe adds.

“It wasn’t respect you were teaching me,” Castiel says. “It was obedience. And it’s almost funny, because about everything else in life, you were pretty liberal. When you gave me the sex talk, you told me that I shouldn’t be afraid to come to you if something happened, if I got a girl pregnant or caught an STD. Even when I came out, you were fine with it. Everything was negotiable -- except our Jewish obligations. Those were absolute. And you think I could have just come to you and said ‘Mom, Dad, I’ve fallen in love with a Christian boy’? How? How could I come to this house and admit that I’d crossed that line?”

“You didn’t have to add insult to injury,” Abe says. “You didn’t have to bring him home with you and lie to us for a week.”

“I wanted to spend the holidays with him,” Castiel insists. “It was the only way I could think of to make that happen.”

“You could have stayed at school. You could have gone into town to meet him,” Abe starts, his voice rising. Evelyn lays a hand on his wrist and stops him. He looks at her with questioning eyes, but quiets down.

"I must admit that we never expected you to date outside the faith," Evelyn says. "That was a - a shock to us, I won’t say it wasn’t. And I think it wouldn't be fair to you to lie and say we weren't, well, disappointed."

Castiel was expecting that word. "I'm sorry you're disappointed," he says, flatly. There's nothing else to say about it.

"But give us some credit," Evelyn goes on. "Did we try to hide who Dean was from your aunts and uncles? No. I told everyone he was your boyfriend. That wasn’t easy to do. And we went to the movies with you. We were trying our best to accept… or at least, to get used to the idea." Her voice is shaky. "We didn't want Dean to feel we were rejecting him."

Castiel's jaw drops. This was their idea of not rejecting him? "You didn't say a word to him after you found out. You told him to go back to his room so you could yell at me. How else was he supposed to feel?"

"We weren't perfect," Evelyn says, and now the tears are starting to rise. "We should have ... we should have taken him aside and told him he was still welcome. And we definitely shouldn't have -- I shouldn't have let my brothers --" She clutches at Abe's hand, holds it in white-knuckled fingers. "But we were so shocked!"

"You put us in a difficult position," Abe says. "We didn't have time to adjust to the idea. We didn't have time to even talk about it at any length until today. And by then, the damage was done."

"And whose fault was that?" Castiel can't help the words that rip from his throat then. His resolve has sharpened into anger, frustration that things have gotten to this point. If his parents were so determined to welcome Dean, then why the hell isn't Dean still _here_?

"Son, we think..." Abe starts.

"No, listen," Castiel says. His brain is lagging behind his mouth, and he knows it's dangerous, but he can't stop. "I might have lost him already, don't you understand that? He asked me to go with him last night, and I said no. I told him I couldn't, because it was your house, your rules. Because it was Shabbat, and I wasn't going to get in a car on Shabbat right in front of my parents. That might have been the last straw. He could be done with me, and that's because I wanted to respect you. And now you just say to me, _we weren't perfect_? _The damage is done_? How is that supposed to be enough?"

Evelyn shakes her head sadly. She's holding Abe's hand for dear life. Abe holds her steady. His voice quavers just a little. "It may not be enough, but it's the truth," he says. "We weren't perfect. And what's happened has happened. Face that, Castiel. And understand that you bear some responsibility for creating this situation in the first place."

Castiel's first instinct is to be angry. The words sting like the slap of an accusation. But as he hears them, and knows the truth that lies behind them, everything abruptly becomes very clear.

“You’re right,” he says in a low voice. “This is my responsibility. I should have had the courage to just tell you. No matter what that meant. And if I’ve lost Dean, I’ve got nobody to blame but myself. 

"So when we're done here, I'm going after him. I'll get Gabriel to drive me into town, and I'm going to go talk to him. Try to fix things. And I don't know when-- or if-- I'll be back. Because if it’s over between us, I don’t think I’ll be able to face you for a good long time. And if it’s not-- well, I’m going to spend the last night of Hanukkah with Dean. Like I promised him I would."

Evelyn mumbles something through her tears. Abe looks at her, inclines his head. She murmurs into his ear. His face goes blank a moment, and then he nods to her, as if giving permission.

She wipes her eyes and takes a breath. "The car keys are in the front closet," she says.

His throat scratchy, his pulse throbbing dully at his temples, Castiel squints. His mind flips over the words, looks at them backwards and upside-down, and still can't process them. "Car keys?" he echoes, feeling as though he's being made fun of somehow.

"Take our car," Evelyn says. "Go to Dean. Work things out."

"But..." Everything is inside-out now. "It's still _Shabbat_.”

“Yes,” she answers, “it is.”

Castiel's brain has churned to a halt. “And you want me to drive on _Shabbat_?”

Abe and Evelyn share a look. Evelyn sits forward in her seat.

"Castiel," she says carefully. "we did raise you to be a good Jew. But we also tried to raise you to be a good man. And a good man takes care of the people he loves." Her tears are still spilling down her cheeks, but they're silent tears, not the hot sobs of the previous days and nights. "If you and Dean love each other, you have to nurture that love. You have to communicate. So yes, go now. Hurry. And Castiel... if you can work things out with Dean, please tell him he's welcome at our home tonight."

Castiel stares at them for a long moment. Evelyn meets his gaze, and for an instant he sees what he never expected to see there: understanding. And he thinks about everything his parents have done over the past twenty-four hours, and why. Even with the weight of disappointment and anger, they’ve tried, in their small, imperfect way, to move forward toward acceptance. And they’re trying so hard, even now. Just for an instant, looking into his mother’s eyes, Castiel understands her too. 

Then he leaps to his feet.

* * *

It's an unsettling sensation to be behind the wheel on a Shabbat afternoon. Stranger still to be driving his parents' car, alone, with no riders and no music, just the sound of the wheels pounding against pavement and the miles of freeway disappearing behind him one by one. But his mind is clear, and focused laser-sharp on his destination: a city that rises up in silver towers at the horizon. And in that city, in a building on the south side of town, an apartment. And Dean.

Everything with his parents happened too quickly. Castiel still has whiplash from it. How can this be the same set of parents who have quietly expected the world from him for so long? How can they just _give_ so easily? 

The answer, Castiel knows, is that it isn't over. There will still be uncomfortable conversations, and challenging questions, and possibly even more ugly scenes. But for now, he's earned the time and space to make sure he at least has a chance for bringing his worlds into harmony. And for that, he's grateful.

Now to seize that chance, before it's too late.

* * *

Parking spot, found. Sidewalks, jogged across. A door opened. Steps, leapt up two at a time. All of it happened, but Castiel doesn't remember any of it. He just knows it's been done. And now he's before a door, and he doesn't remember knocking either, but his knuckles smart with the impact. The seconds tick away as he waits for a response.

There's nothing. Castiel calls out. "Dean!" He knocks again.

Now he senses some movement. Castiel's holding his breath. There's the creaking of hardwood beneath someone's weight, then a hush falls again. Finally, the doorknob stirs, then turns.

"Cas?"

Dean, standing there in his loose sweatshirt and jeans, looks like hell. Deep bags lie under his eyes, and he's pale, his freckles dark flecks against white skin. Castiel wants to reach out for him and never let him go.

Dean blinks at him a few times. "What are you doing here?" he asks. "How can you--"

"I drove. I know," Castiel adds, answering the question Dean's not asking. "Dean, can I come in?"

After another series of hard blinks, Dean eases to the side, gesturing a welcome.

Castiel steps into the apartment. Without the crowds of partygoers, it's even wider and more spacious. He looks around. "Sam and Christian?"

Dean shrugs. "Went to the movies. Same one we saw yesterday, so I stayed home. That and, I didn't really feel like going," he admits, his voice low.

There's pain etched in his expression, the defeated slump of his shoulders. Castiel aches to run his hands up Dean's arms, squeeze those shoulders, offer him embraces and kisses until the worries of the world disappear. But it's not right, not yet. Not until he faces the part he played in bringing Dean to this point.

"I should have gone with you last night," he says. "If I had it to do over again-- I know it's too late to say so, but--"

"Nah." Dean shakes his head. His voice breaks a little over the sound. "Like I said, Cas, I never wanted to make you choose. It was just -- enough already. I couldn't stay. And I thought maybe you'd be as pissed as I was, maybe you would have said ‘enough,’ too. But I guess-- well, I guess it's a lot harder to let go when it's your own family."

Dean retreats through the apartment into the kitchen, then hoists himself up onto a countertop that lies beneath a window. He looks out at it -- fire escapes and the bricks of other buildings, a red-and-black lattice fringed by the branches of bare tries and a white sky. Castiel follows, coming to a halt a few feet away on the tile.

"Dean," he starts. "I came to apologize. And, for whatever it's worth, to thank you. For everything you've had to put up with this week. Not just my family, but me. My anxiety, the lies I dragged you into... you deserve better than all of it."

Dean looks at him, gaze sweeping over his body. Then he turns his head and looks back out the window.

Castiel fights for courage. "I've been doing a lot of hiding," he says. "I hid from you, when we first started to get close. I hid from my feelings. And then I thought I'd hide you from the world. None of it worked, and I should have learned. Still, I tried to hide you from my parents -- and that wasn't fair. To you or to them."

"The thing is, Cas," Dean says, "it wasn’t just hiding. I was supposed to play this part, the nice friend who's just here to see the Jewish holidays, when the real reason I was there was right next to me. I had to sit there and pretend he was just a pal."

He folds his arms around his bent knees and sits forward. "And the pretending didn't go away, even when they found out the truth. You were still counting on me to put up with everything, and the thing is, I wanted to. I wanted to be there for you, and I didn't want to screw things up with us. But somewhere along the way I realized, I'd stopped being me. And after that, I just... I just _couldn't_ anymore. I couldn't deal with it."

Hot tears are swimming behind Castiel's eyes. He furtively wipes them away. "I don't blame you," he says. "I think you did the right thing. I just wish I had... I wish I'd had the courage to go with you. I should have put you before religion..."

"I'm not talking about your religion!" Dean's voice crescendoes. The sound rattles the cabinets. "Damn it, I told you. I don't want to make you choose. I fell for _you_ , Cas. Religion and all. And I didn’t really want you to break Shabbat.” He huffs out a soft laugh. “Well, yeah, I did. But now that you’re here, I don’t know. I mean, what if you spend the rest of your life feeling guilty for doing this? For letting some guy make you break your 'vows,' or whatever they are?"

"You're not 'some guy,' Dean," Castiel says. "And I spent all morning _not_ breaking Shabbat, and it made me miserable. Trust me, I would have felt ten times more guilty if I were still at home."

Dean glances at him dubiously. "I don't know, Cas. I know how seriously you take this stuff."

"I take _you_ seriously," Castiel retorts. "I take _us_ seriously. I'm done playing games, Dean, and I'm done hiding. Most of all, I’m done treating my religion like it’s some kind of do-or-die game I’m playing. It’s part of my life, but I’m not going to let it override everything else anymore. Coming here was the right thing to do, and I don’t regret it. I _won’t._ ”

Calming a little, he continues, voice firm. “I love you, Dean. I have never felt about anyone the way I feel about you, and nobody has brought me as much happiness as you do. Just being with you, waking up next to you, the way we talk, the way we fit together -- it works. It works _so well_ , and if I’m not willing to fight for that, I really don’t deserve you. 

“If there was ever anything in my life that matches the way I feel about being Jewish, it’s the way I feel about being with you. You give my life meaning. That’s all Judaism is about, bringing meaning and holiness to life. So yes, Dean, my religion is important to me. But so are you. So if we still have a chance, I’m not going to let you, or our relationship, take a back seat to anything. I’ll put us first, no matter what that means.”

His fists are clenched, and he can feel the whole ridge of his body as one taut line.  At last, it feels like he’s said the thing he needs to say. All the emotion that’s brought him here, the pain and the guilt and the anger, has been building to this point. He can feel Dean’s stare, almost challenging. _Do you mean it?_  Castiel matches his gaze, willing Dean to feel how very much he does. And though his heart is pounding, he forces himself to say the words that come next. 

"So … _do_ we still have a chance?"

In a rush of movement, Dean swings down for the countertop. He advances on Castiel quickly, his face grim, and Castiel flinches, unsure he's not about to get decked.

But Dean's fingertips alight on his sides, instead, and they're gentle and warm.  "Didn’t you hear me, last night?" he says. "I told them, they're not going to scare me off. Don't you start thinking _you're_ gonna. We've got shit to work out, Cas, but that doesn't mean we're done. Unless... you want us to be."

"No." Castiel stares into his eyes helplessly and shakes his head. "No, that's the last thing I want."

"Then I’m gonna tell you what _I_ want," Dean says. His eyes are soft and pleading. "I don't want any more pretending. I want us to be who we are, and let the world deal with it. Including parents and uncles and cousins and whoever. I don't want to lie, I don't want to be on my best behavior or put some kind of face on so people accept me easier. I tried, but ... it's not the way I work. If nothing else, I figured that out this week."

Castiel dares to let his hand rest on Dean's elbow. Being in contact with him again feels so good, he very nearly melts. "Dean," he says, "I swear to you. I will never ask you to pretend again."

"But you have to promise you're not going to pretend, either," Dean says. His thumb strokes Castiel's hip lightly. Despite the seriousness of the moment, Castiel feels heat start to pool in his core. "I wanna be me, and I want you to be you. And if it turns out we're better apart than together, we have to face that head-on."

"I don't want that to be true."

"Neither do I. But we have to face the possibility that it might turn out that way, someday. There's no guarantees in life, Cas. No telling what the future's going to bring. All I know is what’s happening right now. And right now, Cas, I want to be with you."

"That's all I want, too." Castiel slides his hand up to Dean's shoulder, curls his hand around the nape of Dean's neck. "I know it will take some time to restore your faith in me, but I can only promise you I'm going to try. And if I screw up, please tell me, and I'll try to fix it." He corrects himself. " _We'll_ fix it. Together. Dean--"

He runs out of breath and hurriedly gulps in another, ready to keep talking forever if he needs to. But the air is caught abruptly, trapped beneath the pressure of Dean's lips on his.

Dean's kiss is everything Castiel needs it to be -- a benediction, a forgiveness, a leap of faith. Castiel melts into it, pressing up against Dean, fingers in his hair. Dean's weight shifts, and he's leaning on Castiel a little now. Allowing Castiel to hold him steady. It feels like trust, and Castiel holds Dean as surely as he knows how. They both waver slightly, but somehow, together, they find balance.

When the kiss is over, and when another just like it has come and gone, Castiel looks into Dean's eyes. "This may be asking too much," he says, "and if it is, just say no and I'll understand. But my parents said they would be happy to have you back tonight. We can still have the last night of Hanukkah together. No aunts and uncles this time, I promise. And..." He flushes. "I have a present for you. I meant to give it to you last night, for Christmas."

"They want me to come back?" Dean says, incredulous.

Castiel nods. "I'll tell you everything, later. They're-- they're not angry. They still have to get used to the idea of us, but they're willing to try. That's at least something."

"Can't blame them for being who they are, either, I guess." Dean shrugs. "What the hell. Might as well give them credit for it. But one thing, Cas."

Castiel interlaces his fingers with Dean's. "What?"

"We're not going until Shabbat is over. You're not breaking it twice, not for my sake."

Glancing behind Dean out the window, Castiel sees the sun lowering in the sky. "It'll be another two hours until it's dark," he says.

"Hunh." Dean slips his free hand under Castiel's shirt. "What in the hell are we gonna do with the time, I wonder?"

His fingers slide up to Castiel's ribcage. Castiel makes a muffled sound. "Won't Sam and Christian come back?"

Dean shrugs and leans in for another kiss. "It's a long movie."

* * *

When they pull into the driveway that night, headlights flashing against the dining room windows, Evelyn is coming out the door and down the steps before they're even out of the car. Castiel watches from behind the wheel as she greets Dean at the passenger side door, takes his hand and speaks to him in a low voice. When Castiel gets out and rounds the car to join them, she envelops him in a hug.

Abe meets them at the front door. He shakes hands with Dean, gaze steady and expression inscrutable. But Castiel thinks he detects a slight crinkle at the corners of his eyes. Worry, maybe, or relief. Either way, Abe readily shoulders Dean's bag and hurries to plant it back in the guest room.

After Gabriel welcomes Dean back in his usual effusive manner, Castiel wanders into the living room and is surprised to see the menorah unlit. "It's past sundown," he says, bemused.

"She kept saying, 'ten more minutes,'" Gabriel explains, entering the room behind him. "'Ten more minutes, and maybe they'll be back.' This was fifty minutes ago." He lays a hand on Castiel's shoulder and leans in to murmur, "Good on you, bro."

They light the candles as a family, and Dean actually remembers about half the words to the prayers. The rest, he mumbles along to the tune. Castiel stifles a laugh. Gabriel doesn't stifle his. Evelyn and Abe frown at him.

There are no more presents left to give, save one, and Castiel runs up the stairs to his room to get it. When he returns, bearing a tiny box, he's flushed. Evelyn takes one look and has to steady herself against the sideboard. Gabriel whistles. "Geez, Castiel, the chutzpah on you!"

Castiel laughs. "It's not like that," he says. "Here, Dean." He passes the small box over. "Happy Hanukkah, and Merry Christmas."

"Merry Christmas, Dean," Gabriel echoes, and Evelyn and Abe follow suit, a little shyly, as though the words are in a foreign language.

Dean says "Thank you," but he keeps his gaze on Castiel. He tears the paper off the box and opens it. His eyes widen at the little bands of gleaming copper. A flush rises to his face, and he looks at Castiel, a question in his eyes.

"They're thumb rings," Castiel explains. "I thought it would suit you. And I was thinking we could wear them once in a while. Just... for us."

A grin begins to dawn on Dean's face, but his eyes are still wary. "If someone asks me," he says, "I'm gonna tell them what it means. That cool with you?"

Castiel nods. "I'll do the same."

Now Dean smiles fully, and takes one ring into his palm. "It's great," he says. "Thanks, Cas."

"You're welcome," Castiel says. He answers Dean's grin, and takes his own ring. They slip them on their own fingers, because Castiel's parents are still there. There will be time for bestowing rings on each other in the future, if fate allows. For now, baby steps.

But later, as Evelyn serves her family Anna’s leftover chocolate cake, Dean's fingers brush against Castiel's. The rings clink, and Castiel looks down at them. Reflected in their dull surfaces, he sees the nine points of light reflected from the full Menorah. Overlapping, flickering as though they might go out any minute, but undeniably and beautifully bright.

He smiles and takes Dean's hand. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here we are, at the end of this journey. Perhaps this chapter didn't solve all the problems you were hoping it would. Perhaps something feels unfinished, not quite fleshed out. That's okay. Old prejudices and expectations can't be erased overnight. This is only meant to be a beginning, for Cas and Dean and Cas' family. They have a long road still to walk together. So, as someone else once said in the beginning, let there be light.
> 
> I thank those of you who have shared your experiences and memories with me; I thank those of you for whom this fic was your introduction into a new culture; I thank those of you who came for the smut and stayed for the angst. I thank you all. 
> 
> Please share this fic with others if you enjoyed it. It's the greatest gift you can give an author.
> 
> Shalom.


End file.
